


Art is Pain

by andrhars



Series: Various Zelda works [6]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Awkward Flirting, College AU, Link is an art student, M/M, Male Sheik (Legend of Zelda), Sheik tortures pianos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-25 10:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30087864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andrhars/pseuds/andrhars
Summary: Inspiration is hard to come by on the best days for Link, but his final project is proving a tough one. He didn't expect his muse to come in the form of a fiery, piano-playing Sheikah, but he was willing to try anything...
Relationships: Link/Sheik (Legend of Zelda)
Series: Various Zelda works [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/742365
Comments: 9
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

Link stared at the emptiness in front of him, eyes narrowing as he wracked his brain in an attempt to visualise...something! Anything! He'd even accept bad landscapes at this point, but no...his mind refused to give him inspiration, the canvas remaining empty, as empty as it had been since he'd started...oh, five hours ago, if the clock above the door read correctly.

"Damn it, did it again," he muttered, blinking. He fished out his phone from his pocket to see—yup, as predicted—fifteen messages from Zelda and three missed calls. He hadn't even heard it buzz. Steeling himself, he hit the call button.

_"You did it again, didn't you?"_ Zelda's voice asked the moment she picked up. _"Link, you can't keep doing this!"_

"Sorry," Link said, not feeling sorry at all. "Today was tough. Five hours, and I haven't even touched the canvas. I kept spacing out—none of the things I wanted to paint were good enough to waste good canvas on."

His best friend sighed on the other end of the line. _"Did you at least eat?"_ she asked.

He looked at his untouched sandwich, which was now dry. "Yes," he said.

_"Liar."_

"I take offense to that," he said, feigning hurt. "I ate it in spirit."

_"Go home, and get something to eat before going to bed, idiot,"_ she ordered. _"No more painting before class tomorrow."_

"Yes, mother," he muttered, neglecting to mention that there had actually been no painting done whatsoever.

_"You wish I was your mom,"_ Zelda retorted.

"I suppose you'd be better than nothing."

_"That's no way to talk to your mother, young man."_

"Bye, Zel," he said, hanging up before she could start another digression. She'd harangue him about it tomorrow, he suspected. Stretching, he groaned as every vertebra in his spine seemed to crack before packing up his bag and painting supplies, covering up the canvas with a sheet, joining the dozen other ghosts in the classroom, silently standing vigil in the dark.

He left the classroom, locking it behind him. He'd have to return the key surreptitiously to Professor Pikango in the morning. The last thing he wanted was to get his art teacher in trouble for letting Link stay in the building after closing time. He had no idea how he'd managed to convince the man, but he was immensely grateful for it.

Link had never felt comfortable painting in front of others. He was more than happy to show people the end result, but the creative process itself...no, he was immensely uncomfortable with others around him to witness it. He'd confessed this to Pikango some time ago, and the man had come up with this arrangement.

"This'll be our little secret, though," he'd said, handing Link the key to the art room. "Make sure no one sees you."

The halls of the art and music building were eerily silent at this time of night. During the day, stray notes could always be heard echoing through the halls, voices in loud argument about which painting technique reigned supreme smashing the peace in a thousand pieces.

It was honestly a little spooky, if Link were honest. The lights were turned all the way down to conserve power since no one was technically supposed to be in here at night. This, combined with the fact that this was one of the oldest buildings on campus and built in a style that seemed to be lifted straight out of old vampire movies, usually had Link hurrying on his way out.

Tonight would be no exception, especially since it was nearly midnight. Link wasn't superstitious, but he wasn't about to be alone in this gothic nightmare of a building in the witching hour.

He'd seen enough of Zelda's horror movies to know it wouldn't end well.

He reached the central stairwell and was about to descend, wishing the art room wasn't on the fourth damned floor, when he heard it.

Music.

Hesitant, light little notes on the air. Piano, coming from...the second floor? Link's chest tightened. The rational part of his head told him it was just someone doing the same thing as him: breaking the rules and lingering after hours.

The other part of his head, however, insisted that this would be the start of a supernatural horror show that would leave him catatonic and/or possessed by some sort of demon.

And probably not even the hot kind.

"Nope," he muttered to himself. "Nope, nope, nope, not touching that with a ten-foot pole."

He descended the stairs and was firm in his conviction to ignore the ghostly piano notes floating from one of the rooms on the second floor...up until the music suddenly stopped, just as he passed the second floor landing. For a moment, he thought he'd imagined it, that his imagination had (finally) decided to kick in and serve him some nightmare fuel—

But then the music started up again, and this time the notes were anything but hesitant. They flowed beautifully up and down in a complex arrangement that had Link's fingers twinge at just the idea of the dexterity required to play something this precise at such a tempo.

He was too damned curious for his own good—their dad had always told him that, and for once he was inclined to agree as his legs moved without his input, stepping further into the second floor, spotting an open door at the end of the stone hall, light flooding out. The music got louder and louder as he approached the door, peeking inside carefully, ready to bolt if he saw even a _hint_ of someone transparent.

This was one of the larger practice rooms, meant for orchestras of various sizes. A grand piano took up a great deal of the raised dais that served as the stage, and it was from this that the music was coming.

It was so _loud_ —each note hammering Link's eardrums as the player seemingly smashed the keys with nothing but rage as a medium. Their back was turned to the door, their attention fully on the instrument that they seemingly hated.

Long, blonde hair flowed from their head, pulled into ponytail that reached the middle of their slim shoulders, their skin dark from what he could see from the nape of their neck. They wore a dark blue hoodie with white and red accents and black jeans and vivid red sneakers.

A messenger bag rested against the side of the piano chair, adorned with buttons featuring everything from colourful cartoon characters to political slogans, as well as one that simply said _**FUCK**_ in bold, capitalised letters.

The pianists' shoulders were raised and held tightly; their movements seemingly jerky across the keys even though it sounded anything but. Long, slender fingers worked their way back and forth, graceful in a way Link could only hope to match...or even capture in a painting, for that matter.

They were angry. Very angry. It was evident in the way they were sitting, the way they were playing, the way they were breathing—

"Fucking shit!" a decidedly masculine voice cried out from in front of the piano as a false note was hit, and the boy—for this was definitely a boy—grabbed the sheet music from the stand and hurled them aside, breathing heavily, shoulders rising and falling rapidly.

Link started, surprised by the sudden shout and violent action...which caused him to bump into the door, which, naturally, had the loudest, least oiled hinges in the history of doors, giving a loud, echoing creak of protest at the abuse it had just been put through.

"Oh no," Link muttered as he saw the boy whirl around, gasping when the most intense pair of red eyes met his. There was so much anger in those eyes, seemingly amplified by the pair of wire-frame glasses he was wearing.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other. Then the pianist's face twisted into a scowl that was still unfairly attractive—wait, attractive?—and he marched towards Link, pointing at him with an accusing finger.

"How much did you hear?!" he demanded.

"Wh-What?" Link asked intelligently.

"How much did you hear?!" the boy repeated in the exact same rage-filled tone. "Answer me!"

"J-Just the end," Link replied. "I wasn't standing here and staring and listening, I swear!"

The pianist growled. "Yeah well, forget everything, understand?! You heard nothing!"

"O-Okay," Link said immediately, nodding. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop."

The pianist stared at him for what felt like an eternity, his crimson seemingly boring down to the bedrock of Link's soul in an attempt to ascertain the truth.

"You're not supposed to be in here after hours," the pianist said finally, giving a sniff and turning around, picking up the sheet music he'd tossed aside so forcefully.

"Neither are you," Link pointed out.

"I have permission," the red-eyed boy said haughtily. "I doubt you do."

"Not technically, no," Link said with a shrug, his heart still beating rapidly despite the hostility from before having died down. "But I do have a key."

"Hmph," the other boy said. "Well, you can fuck off. My practice isn't meant for anyone to hear."

Link frowned. "Rude," he said. "But fine, I'll go. Again, I'm sorry."

The boy didn't reply, and Link turned to leave, pausing in the doorway. "It was beautiful, by the way," he said over his shoulder.

"No, it fucking wasn't," the pianist growled. "It was fucking awful. And it'll keep being awful if I don't get to practice in peace, so go away!"

"Okay, okay, I'm going! Good night!"

He shut the door on his way out, pausing when he heard the muffled piano notes through it, the boy having resumed his playing.

He stood there listening for a bit, frowning. He had no idea what the hell the guy had been talking about—his playing sounded perfect to Link. It had all been perfect save for that one wrong note, but was that really worth such a reaction?

He shook his head and headed for the exit, realising it was getting far too late for this—he had early classes in the morning.

He got back to his shared dorm room, not surprised to see (and hear) Sidon passed out, his soft snores mewling in the dark.

Link tried to be quiet, but it was no use. Sidon had the awareness of a cat, and his snoring ceased as Link did his best to navigate to his bed in the dark.

"Y're late," Sidon said, his voice sounding a little judgemental.

"I got distracted," Link explained. "Sorry I woke you."

"Don't worry," Sidon said, and Link could practically hear the smile in his voice. "I'm just glad you're back safe and sound."

"Yeah—"

"So there's nothing in the way of our early morning run," Sidon interrupted, his smile surely growing wider.

Urgh.

Link had forgotten about that. Every other morning they went for a long run together. It had been Sidon's idea after seeing how little exercise Link got whenever he buried himself in his studies and artwork. It was hell...but Link couldn't bear the thought of disappointing the big guy, so he went along with it.

And, frankly, it was doing marvels for his stamina and physique, which up until a year or so ago had been a little below average. Sidon made sure it picked up quite a bit.

"And now you can go back to sleep," Link said, choosing not to comment on the running. "Good night, Sidon."

"Night, Link..."

And he was out like a damned light. Sidon's sleep mode could start and stop on a dime, and Link was nothing but impressed at that.

And a little jealous.

A lot jealous, actually. Link had irregular bouts of insomnia, especially when he was stressed (which was often), and he was quite sure he'd give an arm for Sidon's ability to just conk the fuck out whenever it suited him at those times.

Ah, if wishes were rupees, and all that...

Link got into bed and went through his breathing exercises, closing his eyes and simply letting the darkness envelop him. He was tired, but for once he actually felt sleepy, and it didn't take long for oblivion to take him.

But just as he surrendered himself to it, he swore he could hear phantom notes playing in his head. Unbidden, the pianist's face came to his mind's eye.

Link had a smile on his face as he fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The rest of his week was mostly routine. Early morning torture sess—er, workouts with Sidon, classes in the morning and afternoons, dinner with Zelda and Sidon whenever their schedules lined up. Nights were spent either on his tablet in his dorm or in the art room courtesy of Pikango's key that somehow mysteriously kept finding its way into Link's bag.

New to this routine, however, was his habit of sketching. Now, the act of sketching itself wasn't unusual for Link. It was usually what he did whenever he found himself with spare time on his hands. It was also what he did to calm down if he was having a bad day or anxiety reared its ugly head again.

The _subject_ of his sketches, however, was unusual. For one thing, he kept sketching a face. He'd gladly pretend it was just a random face drawn from his imagination, but no. It was a specific face.

_His_ face.

The angry pianist glared up at him from the paper, lips turned down in a frown, or a beginning scowl. Unfair, really, how someone could look so attractive in the middle of what was supposed to be an ugly expression. His eyes, in particular, had practically sparkled, the anger and frustration giving them a sharp quality that Link had never seen before, and he felt compelled to try and get it down on paper.

He was never happy with these sketches, though, because he consistently failed to depict that fierce quality. So many torn-up balls of paper littered his bin at this point it was in danger of overflowing.

"Still nothing, huh?" Pikango asked Friday afternoon as his students filed out of the room, looking pointedly at Link's empty canvas. "There's only two and a half months left of this class, you know."

"I know," Link said, glaring at the emptiness. "It just...won't come to me."

"I know that pain all too well," the older man said, chuckling. "I hate to be a stick in the mud, but at some point you have to start painting _something_ , or else I won't have anything to grade you on in the practical portion." He cleared his throat when he noticed Link tensing up. "You're a good artist, Link. Anything you decide to paint, I'm sure will turn out great."

"Thank you, sir," Link said, nodding. "I'm sure I'll figure something out tonight." He held out his hand, comfortable with outright asking for it now that they were alone.

Pikango shook his head, though. "Uh-uh," he said. "It's Friday night—no student of mine will spend it cooped up in this stuffy atelier. Go out with your friends and have some _fun_ , for Din's sake."

"You just said I have less than three months left—"Link tried, but Pikango simply took him by the shoulder and gently but firmly steered him towards the door, barely giving him time to grab his bag.

"Yes, but sitting up here all night glaring at the canvas will not be good for your inspiration. You need to get out there and experience something!"

"Like what?"

"Oh, I dunno," Pikango said, giving him a sly smile. "People your age tend to think about one thing only, if you catch my drift."

Link paused, unsure of what he meant. Realisation came a moment later, eyes widening. "You mean...s...se..." he couldn't even finish the word.

"Exactly!" Pikango exclaimed, bodily shoving Link out of the room and locking the door behind them. "Go find a nice lass or lad and work out some frustration. These are the best years of your life, Link—don't waste them."

And that was all the wisdom Professor Pikango felt like sharing that day, apparently, as he promptly marched off, whistling to himself, spinning the keychain around his finger in a mocking display.

Bastard.

What good would going out and...and doing _that_ do for his lack of inspiration? He'd tried that, at Zelda's behest in his freshman year and it had just left him feeling empty.

Granted, he'd gotten a best friend in the form of Sidon out of it, but apart from that it hadn't done much for his ability to conjure up images in his head and putting them on canvas.

Dejected, he left the art building and went back to his dorm. Sidon was out, having extra swim practice since a big inter-college meet was coming up. Link honestly considered just having an early night when he got a text from Zelda, telling him she was having a small get-together at her place.

Attendance was mandatory, to his immense misery.

And that was how he found himself curled up in the corner of Zelda's sofa, his emergency sketchbook in hand, drawing as the sounds of music and increasingly drunk voices surrounded him.

It wasn't a big party, but some of Zelda's friends were so damned loud. It also didn't help that the hostess had brought out her heaviest metal playlist. He could appreciate the musicianship, but when the singer sounded like they were gargling broken glass, they kind of lost Link as a listener.

But things were okay.

Ish.

He had his sketchbook, he had a nice drink on a coaster (Pink Passion, his favourite), and if luck held out the party wouldn't last until early morning.

He just had to hold out until the majority of attendees wanted to go out on the town. Things would calm down considerably by then. Or so he hoped.

"Link," Zelda's voice said, the girl herself standing in front of him, staring down with a judgemental gaze at his drink. "What the hell is this?"

Link looked at the glass of pink-coloured liquid. "My drink?" he tried.

Zelda huffed. "You cannot be serious," she said, gesturing to it. "I mean...look at it!"

"What's wrong with?"

"It's...it's a disgrace!"

Link stared at for a long, quiet moment (or as quite as it could be with the hammers of doomsday pounding out of the speakers), wondering how drunk she was.

"You _made_ me this drink," he said slowly, wondering if he'd need to jog her memory even more.

"I did, and I just realised how much of a travesty it is," she said, reaching into her pocket.

"It's quite good—"

"Not without this!" she shouted, hurling something into his glass.

The little pink paper umbrella unfolded with a click, completing the look of the pinkest drink in existence. Her expression turned into something incredibly satisfied, like a multiple-star chef having put the finishing touches on the meal of their career.

"There," she said happily, sitting down next to him. "Perfect. Now drink."

He did as he was told. There was no denying Zelda. She was a force of nature.

"How's the twink drink?" she asked with a shit-eating grin as he swallowed.

"Very good," he said smoothly (ignoring the slight hitch in his voice at the burning of the tequila). "Very sweet."

"Good, good," she said, leaning back and surveying the party like it was her domain. A regal queen...with slightly glassy eyes. "How's your project going?"

"To the pits," Link replied, taking another sip before picking up his sketchbook again, hoping no one would come and ask him to do caricatures again. He'd done his best, but he was fairly certain everyone walked away disappointed. "At this point I'm wondering why I'm even in this school when I clearly have no imagination."

Zelda gave another huff. "You always say that, and yet you always manage to pull through at the end with some amazingly inspired bullshit that has people lining up to shake your hand and suck your dick."

Link closed his eyes for a moment, letting Zelda's words wash past him. If their dad knew the way she spoke when drunk he'd be crushed.

"Nevertheless," he said pointedly, "at the moment it's not going well."

"Yeah, well, at some point you can just grab one of your millions of sketches and turn that into a painting. What're you drawing now?"

Alarm bells went off in Link's head immediately, but he was too late to get the sketchbook out of Zelda's reach as she mercilessly ripped it out of his hands. "No!" he yelled.

"Oh-ho-ho," Zelda said, grinning. "Who is this handsome fellow?"

The pianist's scowling face glared up at her (as it usually did) from the paper, the top half of his body drawn in as perfect detail as Link could manage. "He's no one!"

"What's with the outfit? It's so tight," Zelda said, leaning away from Link so he couldn't get the book back. "And a sword? Oh, is he a ninja?!"

"No," Link lied.

He was totally a ninja. Link was tired of drawing the pianist in his hoodie and had gotten a bit...creative in regard to his outfit. For some reason, the ninja outfit just came to him.

Zelda stared at the sketch for a moment. "You know, I can't shake the feeling that I've seen this face before somewhere..."

"You haven't," Link said hurriedly.

"Hm," she said, standing up with the book in her hand. "Wait here a moment."

"What? No! Give it back!"

But it was too late. Zelda had already pranced (honest to Hylia pranced!) over to one of her friends, showing her the sketch (that is, shoving it in the poor girl's face and nearly drowning her in her own drink).

"Riju! Look at this!"

Link was hot on her heels, but she carefully pivoted both herself and Riju around to prevent him from snatching it back.

"Doesn't his face look familiar?" Zelda asked.

The girl's eyes looked at the sketch, frowning. "I think I've seen this guy around the music building," she said, fiddling with her spiked leather bracelet. "I think he plays the piano? Can't be sure, though."

Link gave up. It was too late, and Zelda had caught the scent of blood in the water as she turned to face him, looking like the proverbial cat that caught the canary.

"Well, well, well," she said in a smug tone, "this is interesting."

Link growled and took his sketchbook back. "And none of your business!"

Riju frowned. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Not your fault," Link said, pointing at the bane of his existence. "It's hers. Excuse me."

He stomped off, grabbing his drink from the table and stepping onto the small balcony that was barely big enough for two people to stand side-by-side, glad that it was currently unoccupied. There, he downed his drink in one go (instantly regretting as his throat burned), and very seriously considered hurling the sketchbook into the street.

"Fucking shit," he muttered, realising he couldn't.

Partly because the sketchbook was a considerate gift from Zelda (despite her being the devil in disguise) and partly because he'd rather not accidentally kill someone by blinding a car or something.

So instead he stayed out on the balcony, enjoying the night air.

Definitely not sulking.

His phone buzzed with an incoming message from Sidon, saying his practice was finished and that he was on his way to Zelda's place. He'd have to find somewhere to stash his sketchbook so Sidon couldn't see it.

Not because he'd be obnoxiously nosy about the sketch, but because he'd be _nice_ about it, which was almost worse because Sidon's niceness had a way of penetrating Link's thickest armour...and the worst part was that he didn't even do it on purpose. He was just _that_ pure.

He sent a smiling face in return.

"Hey," Zelda's voice, laced with contrition, said as she joined him on the balcony. "Sorry," she added, bumping his shoulder with her own before leaning on the railing. "I got excited."

He harrumphed. "You know I don't like it when you do that."

"Sorry," she repeated. "It's just...I don't think I've ever seen you sketch a person so intently before. And when I realised it was someone real..." She bumped his shoulder again. "Wanna tell your sister the story?"

"No story to tell," Link said with a shrug. "I was in the art building late one night, heard music from one of the rooms, came across him."

"And then?" Zelda asked eagerly.

"Nothing," Link said. "He made a mistake, got angry, saw me and shouted at me until I left."

She frowned. "Sounds like a dick."

"I was watching him without his permission," Link said. "If anything, I was being the dick. Or creepy pervert. However you want to slice it."

"Is that why you drew him?" Zelda asked, touching his shoulder gently. "Is it still bothering you?"

"It's not an anxiety thing, no," Link said firmly. "I just..." he trailed off. "I keep sketching him. I don't know why."

"You _keep_ sketching him?" Zelda asked, surprised. "How many?"

He looked away. He'd lost count. "Many," he settled on for an answer.

"Hm," Zelda hummed. She always did that when she thought she knew something Link didn't. It was annoying as hell.

"What," he said flatly.

"What's that you artist types say about inspiration?" Zelda said, grinning at him. "That it comes when and whence you least expect it? This guy could be your muse, you know." She turned to him, eyes bright with excitement. "You should ask him if you can paint him!"

Link stared at her. "No," he said short

"Why not?"

"I'm not good with live models," he said shortly. "You know that."

Zelda frowned deeper. "Man, that nude anatomy class really messed you up, didn't it?"

Link blushed. "It wasn't the nudity itself as much as the...the...you know..."

"Sheesh," Zelda sighed, rolling her eyes. "Any other guy would be thrilled to see two nude models in simulated sex positions. You somehow turned it into trauma."

"I just wasn't expecting it," Link protested. "Class description didn't mention the eroticism at all!"

"The name of the fucking class was _Eros: The Body Language of Love_!"

Link bit his tongue. He wasn't ready to have this argument. Not again. So he'd only skimmed the title and focused on the description, which had been innocuous in its description of its contents. It was his own fault for not asking more closely about it, yes, but still!

Zelda sighed again, tapping the railing. "It's not like you're going to ask him to model for you in the nude, you know. You can even dress him up like a damn ninja!"

Now there was a thought...

"I doubt he'd be interested," Link said, fighting down the—despite himself—budding excitement. "He seems very serious."

"Giving up before you've even started," Zelda said with a sniff.

"I don't even know which classes he's taking," he argued. "And I can't just hang around the art building hoping to spot him."

"Such a pity we don't know another music student, huh?"

Before he could talk her down, Zelda went back inside, shouting loudly for Riju. He kept his head down for most of the conversation that followed.

"Just tell him that one of the art students wonders if he's willing to pose for a painting," Zelda told the younger woman. "And give him Link's contact info if he says yes. Nothing ventured, nothing gained."

Riju nodded, plotting Link's contact info into her phone. "Can't promise anything, though," she said. "I've only seen him around occasionally. I'm not sure he follows a standard curriculum."

"Scholarship student," Zelda said. "Intriguing."

"You're talking an awful lot about risk and venture for a director who plays it safe," Link said, feeling like he had to make a token resistance to this plan of his sister's. He was going to have to talk himself down at some point too, honestly. Damn her mentioning of the ninja outfit!

Zelda looked affronted. "You said you liked my parkour zombie film!"

"I did!" Link said. "It just...wasn't very original."

"That's just hurtful," Zelda grunted, pushing past him and back inside the apartment, leaving him alone with Riju. "See if I ever help you again!"

Noting Riju's worried look, Link shook his head. "Don't worry about it, we have fights like these about twice a week."

"Oh," Riju said, looking relieved. "That's...good?"

"Siblings," was all he could offer as an explanation.

"I see..." She perked up a bit. "Did she really make a zombie parkour movie?" she asked, looking a little excited.

"I'll get you a copy," he said, hoping she wouldn't notice him as an extra member of the horde. Zelda had made sure he had a particularly gruesome and spectacular death, but he _had_ been wearing a lot of makeup, so...

"Thanks," she grinned. "And I'll keep an eye out for your pianist."

Surrendering to this notion, because the last thing he wanted was to put Riju in an uncomfortable position, he smiled back.

"Thanks."


	3. Chapter 3

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't hoping _just a little_ that Riju would find the pianist and give him Link's contact info. If only so he could get another good look at that fierce expression and those flashing eyes of his.

Link was onto something. He could feel it. Each sketch he made came out better and better. His fingers practically itched to sketch or paint whenever he was in regular classes or didn't have access to art materials.

This might be it—his final project for Pikango's class. All he needed was the source in front of him for a few hours, so he could get down all the details.

A week passed, and there was no news from Riju. He tried not to think about it. Tried not to let the itch torment him too much. But it was no use. He sketched and sketched. At some point Sidon noticed his small stockpile of sketches featuring the same face in various configurations and outfits.

"Do you know this person?" he asked, picking up one of papers that had fluttered to the floor in the wake of Link's flurry of drawing. "He's cute!"

"Met him in the art building one night, briefly. I'm trying to get into contact with him," Link said, sharpening a pencil. "But it's hard."

"He's a student here?"

"Music student."

"Hm," Sidon hummed. "I don't really have any connections in that part of campus."

"It's fine, Riju's on it," Link said, fighting very hard to add a comment about how she was taking her sweet time. It wasn't fair to her at all. Guy was like a fucking ghost, apparently.

"Well, when you do end up meeting him," Sidon said with a wide grin, "ask him out! We can double date!"

Link snapped his pencil in half.

It wasn't like that.

It wasn't!

Link just wanted to sketch him. That was all. And then paint him. Maybe pose him at a piano. Watch those long fingers gracefully work their way across the ivory, and then across Link's—

Nope, nein, njet, not going there!

"I need some air," he said, excusing himself.

And he did get some air. Briefly. Before he headed to the art building. The doors were locked at this time of night, but Pikango had left Link a set of keys at the agreed-upon spot. Exam times were approaching, and regular classes were sporadic at this point in favour of appointments with the instructors, so they'd worked out this system.

He unlocked one of the smaller side doors and went inside, wandering the halls seemingly at random, hoping to hear a stray note.

Nothing.

The building was empty. The orchestra room was locked, nothing but darkness to be seen through the small windows.

Disappointed, Link left the building and went back to his dorm, where Sidon had (predictably) crashed. They repeated the ritual of him waking up and making sure Link was okay before going back to sleep.

And Link lay awake for a few hours more still before falling asleep.

He didn't dream of the blonde-haired pianist and his angry, shouting voice.

He didn't!

Another few days passed, and he couldn't take it anymore. He began to wander the halls of the art building during the day, specifically around the time the music classes started and ended. He watched the students filing out of the classrooms intently. Plenty of blonde heads, but no red eyes.

Well, there was one pair, but they belonged to someone else entirely. A purple-haired guy was speaking to one of the music professors, looking upset. He looked up just as Link went past, their eyes meeting.

A grimace crossed the man's face, and Link decided it was time to leave, fast.

No good could come of someone looking at him that way.

He stopped stalking the art building halls after that. He'd just have to trust in Riju.

* * *

"It's been a month," Zelda pointed out in a neutral, even voice. She pointedly did not mention the gigantic pile of sketches that covered Link's desk. "Turn-in's soon, isn't it?"

"Month and a half," Link muttered into his pillow. He was lying face-down on his bed. He couldn't summon the energy to turn around.

"Link, this isn't healthy," his sister said, sitting on the edge of the bed, poking him between his shoulder blades. "The guy's impossible to find—Riju's been reduced to waving one of your sketches around but no one can say for certain when and where they've seen him last."

Link didn't answer, only grumbled into his pillow.

"You have other classes too, you know," she reminded him, poking him again. "You're not falling behind in those, are you?"

He stilled.

She sighed. "Link, you need to get out a bit. See other people."

"I just want to paint..." Link said, aware that he was just whining at this point, but damn it, his sister would just have to take it.

"I know," she said sympathetically. "But at this point you're not even doing that. You're just obsessing over a person who clearly isn't interested in mingling on campus." She grabbed his shoulder and, with some effort, forced him to roll over to face her. "I promised dad I wouldn't let you fall into this pattern again. So...up you get!"

"Nah," Link said. He was tired. Inspiration lurked beneath the surface, and all he managed to do was glimpse bits and pieces of it. He wanted— _needed_ —to see whole creature before he could make use of it. Before his mind's eye would show him what to paint.

Zelda grunted...and then Link's middle erupted in a sharp pain that had him curling up on his bed, hands cradling his stomach protectively. He glared up at her. "Did you just hit me?!" he growled.

"I flicked your solar plexus," she said. "Surprisingly effective, huh?"

She gave him no time to recover or fall back into his misery, grabbing one of his hands and forcibly dragging him out of bed, pushing him towards his and Sidon's shared bathroom.

"Take a shower; you stink," she ordered. "I'll get your book bag ready."

"For what?" he asked, unable to resist the force of nature that was his sister. "I don't have classes—"

"But you have upcoming exams, and you need to study! I know your schedule, so I'll get it all set up for you!"

"And then what?!"

"You just leave it to me!"

* * *

This was the last time he'd ever leave it to Zelda.

She'd marched him to one of the coffee shops on campus, dumped him at a table in the back of the place where he could work in peace, and ordered him coffee and some pastries.

"Study," she ordered him. "Maybe talk to someone."

And then she'd left.

Just like that!

He swore revenge on her and her descendants for the next seven generations for this betrayal!

At least at first. However, as he realised it was incredibly awkward to simply sit there and stare angrily at his pumpkin spice latte, he did actually get to work on revising for his art history exam, which was coming up soon.

And, frankly, he had been missing a lot...or failing to retain it, at least. The fresh information, coupled with the smell of coffee that saturated the air of the shop and the sweet taste of the pastries Zelda had gotten him, managed to shift his mental balance somewhat.

For the first time in a month, he was able to think of something other than red eyes and a scowling face and actually retain the things he read and wrote down in his notebook.

Wow, he realised, he'd been in deep, hadn't he? That tunnel visioning habit of his had struck him with full force and he hadn't even realised it...as usual.

He sighed, feeling ridiculous. Well, there was nothing more to it. He'd have to focus from now on and put the pianist out of his mind. He'd find something else to paint for Pikango's class. Even if it would feel like pulling teeth, he'd get something down on that canvas.

Satisfied with that answer to himself, he dove deep into the art history of Ancient Hyrule. Triangles appeared to be a recurring motif thanks to the religious reverence to the Three Sisters and the Triforce, an object into which their power and essence had been poured. As a result, you could usually find that familiar arrangement of three triangles in just about every piece from that age.

Hell, one saw it a lot even today, especially on government seals and the like, even after Hylia had taken over as the primary deity. The Sisters had been mostly forgotten, but the Triforce remained.

He read and took notes, studied the pictures and photographs lovingly printed in high resolutions in the textbook (explaining why it had been so fucking expensive), committing details and recurring motifs to memory. To his relief, he remembered a lot of these things, which meant he wasn't totally screwed when the exam came, and it was good to get a proper revision done.

Time flew past. Every now and then he ordered a refill for his coffee, but other than that he kept his eyes firmly on his books. For all the grief it gave him, his ability to obsess over things also came in handy for study sessions like these, even if they more or less robbed him of all other senses.

Which was why, when he looked up after a certain number of hours had passed, he realised the coffee shop was absolutely packed to the rafters. The extra chairs at his seat had long since been stolen—and no one had even asked him! Rude!

...or maybe they had, and he'd just been too deep in his studying to notice.

He was going to go with rude, though. If only for his own self-esteem.

Why the hell was the coffee shop so full, though? He looked around, realising that everyone seemed to be looking in one direction. Standing up, he stood on his toes...only to realise he was one of the shortest damned people in the shop and he couldn't look over their heads. He climbed onto his chair and finally spotted what everyone was looking at it.

In the middle of the shop, in front of a sofa group, a single chair had been placed. Next to it was a guitar amplifier, and a microphone.

Oh, great. A concert. Just when Link was finally getting work done. He could block out most things, but a noisy crowd and a guitar douche playing the Guitar Douche's Greatest Hits Vol. 5?

Nah, Link was done here for the day, it seemed. He sighed and packed up his things. Might as well head home and see if Sidon was in and wanted to get something to eat. It was late in the afternoon at this point, and coffee and pastries didn't really satisfy his hunger.

It was more difficult than he'd thought, getting out. There really were people everywhere at this point, which was surely some sort of fire code violation. Didn't these places have a max occupancy rate? And what kind of guitar douche had adoring crowds this size, anyway?

Trying to work his way along the edges of the crowd was a no-go; there were too many chairs and tables in the way among the packed bodies. Instead, he had to make his way to the centre of the shop, which was ironically where the crowd was at its thinnest due to the boundaries around the guitar douche's throne of doucheness and the shop's counter.

He was near the front now, able to see the exit. If only he could make it before—

The lights dimmed slightly, except for the ones just above the throne of doucheness.

Fuck, he'd been so close!

And there he was, appearing from among the crowd like a mystical figure, the people parting for him so he could take his place on his throne. Dressed in a comfy grunge-like outfit of torn jeans and a white long-sleeved sweater, a red plaid shirt wrapped around his middle in the ultimate expression of doucheness, he dumped his bag and guitar case next to the chair and quickly opened the case, withdrawing a twelve-string acoustic/electric guitar.

Well, at least this one put in the effort of learning The Guitar: But More Complicated.

Was he wearing a...ah, yes, there it was. The beanie. It was cream-coloured and covered in an assortment of pins. The most prominent pin featured what appeared to be a blonde anime boy wearing headphones and...hugging a banana?

Huh.

Not what he expected to see on a hipster. Oh well...

The crowd began to clap, and Link realised he was completely trapped. Sighing, he turned back to the guitar douche, settling in for the long haul while hoping to find a window of opportunity to escape later.

The guitarist sat down on the chair, facing down as he began to tune his instrument. Luckily it didn't take long—just a minor tweak of the screws here and there—and he was quickly plugging the guitar into the amplifier.

Finally, he looked up, green eyes surveying his audience, and Link couldn't help but feel he'd seen the guy somewhere before.

"Hello, everyone," he said, speaking softly into the microphone. No feedback, thank Hylia. Link wasn't sure he could take the sort of beginner mistakes one usually made at these things. Not today. "Thank you for coming today. My name is Sheik, and I'll be playing some songs for you."

The crowd clapped again. Link couldn't shake the feeling of familiarity. There was just something about that voice, combined with that face...

The idea struck him just as Sheik struck the first chord. What followed was, indeed, _not_ the Greatest Douche hits. It wasn't a song Link had ever heard. It sounded like...well, not traditional rock or Hyrulian music at all. The chord progressions sounded entirely different, but it still rocked at an upbeat tempo. The tune was undeniably infectious, and Link could see more than one head nodding to the beat, in time with Sheik's foot tapping the floor.

And then Sheik began to sing. Words Link didn't understand filled the coffee shop, and Link was instantly spellbound. Sheik's voice was very soft, almost like a whisper, but every syllable was clear and his tone conveyed emotions perfectly.

As the verse finished, Sheik's head ducked down, a small grin coming to his face but disappearing quickly as he launched into what appeared to be the chorus, fingers effortlessly working their way up and down the fretboard.

It was the fingers that confirmed it for Link. Sheik may have changed his appearance just enough for Link to get thrown off, but those were definitely the same long, elegant fingers he'd seen playing the piano that night in the art building. Dexterous, they moved faster and with more precision than Link could ever hope to match, coaxing absolutely beautiful music out of the guitar.

The man was a multi-instrumentalist—Link was not surprised.

Why on earth Sheik's eyes were suddenly green as opposed to red, Link had no idea, but for the moment he simply kept his focus on the guitarist as he continued to play.

The song ended a few minutes later, the last few notes ringing out before Sheik muted the strings, muttering a quick "Thank you" into the mic before the audience began to clap.

And it was far from the polite clap an amateur performer could hope to get. This was enthusiastic, approving, _loving_! Link barely even realised he'd joined in himself, slapping the palms of his hands together as hard as he could.

"Thank you," Sheik repeated, looking up and giving his audience a big smile. It looked positively radiant, all teeth and bright eyes. "That was an original song of mine, called ' _Hear Me'_ in Sheikah. I'm glad you enjoyed it. Next, I'll be playing a bit of Terminan Blues. Join in if you know it."

He started playing again immediately, the switch to a blues rock tune not jarring in the least somehow. Link supposed he was a little biased at this point, but everyone else seemed to love it as well, joining Sheik in singing along in both verses and chorus.

As did Link.

It certainly got the crowd going, and Sheik looped the last paired verse and chorus at least three times, even going for a fucking key change in the last one. The higher range was a bit much for most of the crowd, but they still did their best.

"Don't know why I bothered singing myself in that one," Sheik said, getting a few chuckles from the crowd. "Thank you. Next up is another original composition. I call it 'Shadow'."

There were no words to this song. It was a sombre piece, sounding a lot like a funeral dirge, but somehow hopeful at the same time. The tempo was slow, but it didn't seem to matter—Link certainly didn't find it boring or lose interest halfway through. It was a mesmerising performance, and it brought to Link's mind the mental image of dusty crypts and hidden secrets.

The song ended far sooner than Link would've liked—frankly he could have listened to that one on a loop for hours—and he joined in on another frenetic clapping session.

And so the show went on. Sheik alternated between his own compositions, most of which were instrumental save for a few, and acoustic renditions of famous hits. Link even recognised a few, despite being terminally unaware of pop music.

His stomach plunged with disappointment when Sheik finished another song and uttered the fateful words that any concertgoer hated:

"Last song."

There were groans of disappointment, which had Sheik chuckling.

It was such a warm sound. It made Link's stomach do a little leap, for whatever reason.

"I'm sorry, but I've already outstayed my welcome. This is a quick little medley of various songs and melodies that have been important to me. Maybe you'll recognise some of them, maybe all of them...though I hope not the latter because it means your childhood was just as lame as mine."

Another round of laughter.

"All right, here we go..."

Whatever Link had expected, a collection of some of the most recognisable video game melodies wasn't it. It took the audience a few steps to realise, but soon they were clapping and roaring whenever they recognised a classic tune. The man had clearly spent a great deal of his childhood indoors, if his knowledge of (some fairly obscure) music pieces was anything to judge by.

Some audience members even tried to make the correct sound effects where appropriate, mirroring the "Press start" screen demos.

It was a strange feeling, being both warm from hearing such stunning music from the person he'd obsessed over for the past month, and the sheer impact of nostalgia that brought him back to his childhood. He remembered getting into one of the worst fights of his life with Zelda over this particular one, The Legend of Hilda.

You just didn't touch a man's save file. You didn't!

As with his other songs, Sheik's Videogame Medley Deluxe ended far too soon, and he was just as fast packing up and getting ready to leave as he'd appeared. He didn't seem comfortable in the pressure of such a crowd, and after a quick round of greetings and hellos and he was heading for the door, bag and guitar case in tow.

Link's body moves on its own, clearly fed up with its brain's inability to function properly. What exactly he was going to do when he reached him, Link wasn't sure. He'd been obsessing about the guy for a month but now that he had him just a few steps away he was at a loss for words.

Though at this rate he wasn't sure if he was ever going to find out, because where the crowd parted for Sheik to slip through, it did the opposite for Link. It clumped together, forming a press of bodies that felt like it was about to crush him.

"Excuse me!" he called. "Excuse me!"

Painfully slowly, he was able to force his way out of the crowd. His chest clenched when he saw that Sheik was already halfway across the parking lot—he was going to miss his chance!

"Excuse me!" he shouted as he pushed through the door. "Sheik!"

The guitarist paused, turning to face him. "Yeah?" he said. "I'm sorry, but I'm kind of in a hurry—"

"I'm sorry!"

The words came unbidden, but Link supposed they were as appropriate as any.

"Pardon?" Sheik asked, confused.

"I don't know if you remember me," Link said, coming to a halt a few steps away, his gaze on Sheik's sneakers. Same ones he'd been wearing at the art building, he realised. "But you caught me eavesdropping on your piano practice a while back. I just wanted to apologise to you properly."

"What do you...oh..."

Link looked up, expecting to see the same scowl from that night, but instead Sheik looked...embarrassed? Regretful?

"I recognise you now," Sheik said, scratching his neck. "And...uh...you don't need to apologise. If anything, I should be apologising to _you_."

Now it was Link's turn to look confused. "What?"

"I'd left the door open," Sheik said. "That's as good as an invitation to at least linger and listen. I was having a bad day and struggling with the piece. I got frustrated, and...well...you were an easy target. I was way out of line, and I'm sorry for yelling—well, _screaming_ at you." He did a little bow. "Forgive me."

Link panicked. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He wasn't the one who was supposed to forgive! He stammered out an approximation of a response—he wasn't entirely sure it was even a proper language he was speaking at the moment.

"Th-Tha's fine," he said—allegedly—doing a little bow of his own without knowing why. "D-Don't worry about it! I'm Link by the way!"

Why was he shouting his name at him?

Sheik looked taken aback by the bow and Link's volume, but kept smiling.

Fuck, he was cute. He'd been fierce and striking in the art building, but now, in front of Link, he looked so...soft. Like...his mere presence was a comfort. Calming, almost.

"Thank you," Sheik said after a very long, very embarrassing moment where Link couldn't make his tongue move at all. "It's been bothering me for a while. It's nice to meet you, Link. I'm guessing you're a student too? Since you had a key, I mean."

"Uh...uh, yeah," Link said, wishing his idiot brain would restart already. "Art."

Sheik's—still green, what the hell—eyes lit up a bit at that. "Ah, what kind of art?"

"Painting."

Sheik nodded. Why he needed so long to digest a monosyllabic response (like Link was a freaking caveman!), Link had no idea. He shifted his foot a little awkwardly, looking at the ground for a moment before looking back up at Link.

"Is it fun?"

The question caught Link off-guard. "Fun?" he said, stumbling over the answer, "uh yeah, I guess it is? I mean, the creative process—that is, deciding what to paint how to go about it—can be a pain but when you get that spark it's...amazing, really. And the feeling when you step back and look at your finished work is just...there's nothing like it." He took a breath, realising he'd said all that in one single exhale. Cheeks heating up in embarrassment, he cleared his throat, looking away. "Ah, sorry for rambling."

"No need," Sheik said, chuckling a little. "Sure proves you love it."

"Heh, yeah, I do," Link replied, nodding. He decided very firmly not to mention how he could sink into deep depression if he wasn't able to find the spark for a painting...or his tendency to obsess over his desired subjects. "I'm sure you feel the same about your music."

Sheik hesitated. For a brief moment—less than half a second—his face went stony, like a mask, but it was quickly covered up as he nodded, a smile that was not nearly as genuine as the one before coming to his lips.

"Pretty much," he said. It didn't sound very convincing.

That didn't make sense to Link. Sure, Sheik had been angry as hell in the art building that night—but which artist didn't get pissed off at themselves from time to time?—but just now in the coffee shop he'd looked positively ecstatic, clearly having the time of his life playing for so many people.

He almost wanted to ask, but he'd rather not upset Sheik any further than he already had. It'd be nice to see that fierce look of his again, but Link wasn't sure his mental walls could take another battering and tongue lashing.

"Your eyes," he said, with no input from his brain.

Sheik paused. "My...eyes?"

"They're different. From that night, I mean."

The guitarist looked puzzled, face brightening a little when he realised what Link meant. "Oh, I'm wearing contacts right now," he said, pointing to his green pupils. "I guess I was wearing glasses that night. My eyes are actually red."

"I knew it!" Link exclaimed, way too loud. Sheik bore it without complaint, however, looking amused. "I mean, I knew it," he said more levelly. "They...uh...left an impression."

"They tend to do that, for better or worse," Sheik said with a crooked grin. He seemed to study Link. "Your eyes are blue," he noted.

Link's cheeks felt even hotter, his stomach doing a little leap. "They are?" he asked.

Wait, what? Of course they were! He knew that!

Sheik grinned again—what a perfect fucking smile—nodding. "They are," he confirmed.

Link felt very out of his depth at this point. Was this...was this flirting? Was he flirting with the Angriest Pianist? This wasn't what he intended to at all! Or...well...maybe...no! No! He had a painting to make, and now, after all this time, the subject he wanted—no, needed!—to paint was standing in front of him. He couldn't let this chance pass him by; couldn't risk losing his inspiration again!

"Um, I have a favour to ask you," he said before he could chicken out.

"Oh yeah?" Sheik said, cocking his head to the side adorably. "What is it?"

"I've...I've actually been trying to reach you," Link admitted awkwardly. "I was hoping you would be—"

"Sheik, come on, get your ass in gear, I'm hungry!"

He was rudely interrupted by someone appearing from behind Sheik, their purple hair immediately stealing Link's attention. An odd feeling familiarity struck him then, but he was unable to place where he'd seen this person before. He couldn't quite make their face because of the aviator sunglasses they were wearing, but the general shape...

"Can't you see I'm talking to someone?" Sheik said, his expression immediately morphing into one of annoyance as he turned to face the newcomer.

"Huh?" the newcomer said, seemingly noticing Link for the first time. "Oh, hey, didn't see you there. You a fan of my cousin?"

"Uh—"

"His name is Link," Sheik said before Link could really reply. "Link, this is my idiot cousin Kafei, who apparently wouldn't know proper manners even if they smacked him in the face."

"As if we weren't all on the receiving end of those ear twists," Kafei said, giving Sheik an exaggerated frown. "Nice to meetcha, Link—hey...wait a minute..."

Kafei stepped a little closer, forcing Link a step back, and lowered his sunglasses, red eyes studying him closely. Recognition and realisation seemed to alight on their respective brains at the same time as Link's jaw dropped, and Kafei pointed a finger at him accusingly.

"You were at the art building!"

They paused, realising they'd both shouted the same thing at the exact same time.

Link blinked, confused. He remembered the guy now, as the one who'd been speaking with the professor that day. The hair had stuck but the rest of his face hadn't up until now. What he could have done to make such an impression on Kafei, though, he didn't know, and _definitely_ didn't understand the amount of dislike that filled the purple-haired man's eyes.

"Sheik, get away from him!" Kafei said, putting himself bodily between the two, putting an arm across Sheik's chest and pushing him back.

Or trying to, at least. Sheik himself remained steady, not moving an inch and looking utterly confused.

"What's going on?" he asked, looking to Link for an answer he'd never get.

"I don't know," Link replied, just as puzzled.

His fight or flight instincts seem to have kicked in, and he was doing his best not to give in to either urge.

Who was this eggplant man and why was he pointing at Link like he was the villain of the week on some terrible kid's show? They'd called each other cousins but Kafei was acting more like a bodyguard.

"Have we met?" he asked, directing the question at Kafei.

"Oh, don't give me that cute, innocent look," Kafei hissed, glaring at him. "You know what you've done. Sheik, move!"

"Uh, no," Sheik said, refusing to move, planting his legs firmly on the ground. "Not until you tell me what's going on here—do you two know each other?"

"Not personally, no," Link said. "I mean, I saw him at the art building the other day, but we never actually talked. Or met."

"This is him, Sheik," Kafei spat, giving up on pushing Sheik back when he realised the guitarist had braced himself, but still remaining between them like a shield. "The guy I told you about. The one who's been hanging around the art building, all shady-like."

Sheik hummed. "You told me he looked like a human trafficker," Sheik said, looking Link up and down. "Doesn't really seem like the type to me."

"That's how they lure you in!" Kafei hissed. "You just stay right where you are, man, or I'll have to take you down!" he directed at Link.

"Kafei!" Sheik hissed, directing a fierce glare at his cousin.

Link had to fight down a grin of delight. There it was. The face that had been haunting his dreams and every waking moment for the last month. The face he'd been _dying_ to immortalise on canvas. Just a few feet away. Oh, why didn't he have his art supplies with him? If he could just make one proper sketch, with Sheik's face this close...

"You can't just threaten someone like that!" Sheik continued, punching Kafei's arm so hard it made the other man wince. "Especially not based on unsubstantiated allegations!"

Kafei, for a moment, looked delighted. "You've been using the thesaurus I gave you!"

Sheik punched his arm again.

"Ow!" Kafei cried out, retreating out of Sheik's reach, rubbing his arm. He kept a close eye on Link still, however.

Link, still in the throes of reptilian instincts with regards to survival, remained rooted to the spot, unsure of how to even react to being accused of something like this, and with such vehemence.

"I'm sorry about this, Link," Sheik said, looking annoyed.

Link didn't mind, really, if he got to see that annoyed face some more.

...wow, he was really far gone, wasn't he?

"It's okay," Link replied, doing his best to smile. It probably came out at a weird angle, but it was the best he could do at the moment. "But...uh...what did I do to piss him off?"

"Who knows," Sheik said. "Kafei watches too many yakuza movies."

"Do you deny that you've been hanging around the art building?" Kafei asked, pointing at him again. "Lingering outside the classrooms, watching the students closely?!"

Ah. So Link had been noticed.

"Well, I was, but—"

"Aha! So, you admit it! You were waiting for Sheik so you could kidnap him! Fucking knew it! Hang on, Sheik, I'm gonna call Paya for some muscle! Stay right there!" Kafei stepped back a little, fishing his phone out of his pocket, quickly dialling a number.

"Kaf, no, don't call her—"Sheik tried, but it was too late.

"P!" Kafei shouted into the receiver. "I need your help! I found the guy who's after Sheik, got him cornered in the parking lot at the coffee place! Bring your bulk and come help me—"

"Paya, don't listen to him!" Sheik shouted, racing over to his cousin and shouting into the receiver as well. "It's all just a misunderstanding, I'm sure! Don't do anything! Stay where you are!"

"Sheik, don't be stupid, we don't know him—"

"Exactly, so how could we know he's a kidnapper—"

"That's not the point, we have to be caref—"

"How can that not be the point?!"

Link watched it all unfold, feeling uncomfortable. Was this...was this normal for these two? They were starting to draw attention from the customers leaving the coffee place, curious glances trying to see what all the shouting was about. Exactly the sort of attention Link didn't want.

"Hey, hey, let's take this somewhere else, huh?" he said, forcibly pushing the two arguing cousins off the side of the lot, under the cover of some decorative trees and bushes. "You're causing a scene!"

"Now look what you've done!" Sheik shouted, glaring at Kafei, who was still screaming into his phone like a man deranged.

"P? P?! Paya!" He looked at the display, an utterly heartbroken expression twisting his face. "She hung up!"

"Good! She's busy studying—the last thing she needs is your dumb ass bothering her!"

"Hey!"

They fell silent, two pairs of eyes focusing on Link with the intensity of lasers. It took Link a moment to realise he'd been the one to shout. Honestly, it was very unnerving. They looked quite different in general shape and facial details, but their eyes were exactly the same.

"Look, I'm sorry," he said, heart thundering in his chest like a horse run amok. "I didn't mean to cause any trouble, but—"

"Well done on that," Kafei said sarcastically before hunching over with a pained grunt. "Argh!"

"Go on," Sheik said, retracting his elbow from Kafei's ribs.

"Yes, I've been hanging around the art building," Link admitted. "And yes, it was specifically because I was looking for you," he nodded at Sheik. "I even had another music student keep an eye out so she could give you my contact information...b-but it's not for anything creepy or illegal, I swear!"

"Let's hear it, then," Kafei said hoarsely, slightly hunched over and looking ready to collapse. Sheik offered no support, physical or emotional.

"I want to put you on canvas!"

All three fell silent for a long, agonisingly slow-passing moment. Link's pulse was racing, the sound of rushing blood roaring in his ears, nearly drowning out everything else as his gaze fell to his sneakers, which he'd doodled on.

That...had not come out quite right. Did that even mean anything? Maybe if he were a serial killer...

He dared to look up. First at Sheik, who seemed confused. Then at Kafei, who looked somewhere between apoplectic with rage and paralysed from shock.

"Put me...on canvas?" Sheik said slowly, raising an eyebrow, hand clutching his guitar bag a little tighter. "Does that...mean you want to—"

"How dare you?!" Kafei hissed venomously. "It's one thing to even ask him, but in front of me?! You've got some brass balls on you, man." He stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. Link took a step back on pure instinct. "I will not allow some sleazy pornographer to take my cousin's innocence—I'll kill you first!"

This is it, Link thought. This is how I die. In a coffee shop parking lot.

Before Kafei could do anything, though, Sheik acted. He dropped his bag and guitar case, which hit the ground with a loud thump, and grabbed Kafei's left arm by the wrist, twisting it around to his back, pulling it up between Kafei's shoulder blades. The effect was immediate, Kafei wincing and whining, dropping to his knees.

"Ow, ow, please stop, ow, uncle, uncle!"

"How about we all calm down?" Sheik asked gently, keeping his hold on Kafei's wrist, holding him in place but easing up a little to relieve the pain. "Link, do you want to say that again? Maybe reconsider the wording?"

Wow.

That was all Link could think. If Sheik had looked fierce in the art building after his angry outburst, he looked positively ferocious like this, standing over a defeated foe, exerting his power over them, eyes intense and flashing from the reflected light of the streetlamps.

"Link?" Sheik asked again.

"O-Oh! Right," Link said, blushing. Some artist he was, unable to even look at his muse—for that was what Sheik was to him, there was no denying it—without falling into a trance. "I want to...I have this class, where the final hand-in is a painting. The motive is supposed to be something that truly inspires us, something that will bring out every ounce of our skill and passion. I've been struggling a lot with finding something like that and...well, that night in the art building, I...well, I realised that was you. Your face, your eyes, your bearing. They were all so beautiful! I haven't felt that inspired in my life—ever!—and I've been...admittedly obsessive with trying to track you down and ask if you'd be willing to model for me. Just a portrait!" He hurriedly added the last bit when Kafei looked ready for another outraged outburst. "Clothed! Shoulders and up!"

He paused, needing to catch his breath.

"I didn't realise you'd be playing at the coffee shop, by the way," he added. "I was here to study."

Sheik looked stunned. His cheeks even looked a little red, but that could easily have been a trick of the light. Link fought down the hope that it _was_ a blush. He had to keep this professional.

If he even stood a chance at this...

"Huh," Sheik said, trailing off a bit. "Paint a portrait of me?" He pointed to himself, looking a little lost. "What's so interesting about me?"

"I told you," Link said, "that passion you were showing?"

"I was just pissed off at the stupid piano piece," Sheik said weakly.

Oh, Sheik was definitely blushing now, cheeks colouring. Fuck, he was cute when embarrassed.

"And it was a riveting display," Link said quickly. Like I said, I've been desperate to ask you. My dorm is absolutely filled with sketches of you I made from memory!"

"Creepy," Kafei drawled.

"Maybe, but that's art!" Link bit out. Maybe a little too viciously, as Kafei's eyes widened. He turned his attention back to Sheik, bowing his head a little. "I know this is a very inappropriate thing to ask, and the worst timing, but please, _please_ be my model for a portrait!"

Sheik let go of Kafei's arm, cheeks red as he looked anywhere but directly at Link. "I don't...I've never modelled before," he said. "I wouldn't know what to do."

"You just stand very still," Link said, trying to sound assuring but strongly suspecting he had a very manic edge to his tone. "Easiest thing in the world. I might ask you to pose—nothing inappropriate—but that's about it. And I'll need you for a few hours a day at the most!"

"A lot can happen in a few hours," Kafei muttered, stretching his arm this way and that, wincing when one of his joints made a loud cracking sound. "And you don't have that kind of time—"

"I'll do it," Sheik said.

"What?!" Kafei shrieked. "Sheik!"

"I'll do it," Sheik repeated, glaring at Kafei. "I'm an adult and I can do whatever I want with my own time. School only takes up a third of my day, anyway, so—"

"You have tutoring!"

"They can be postponed."

"You'll need to play catch-up!"

"Fine by me!"

Kafei gave a frustrated groan. "You're still under house arrest!"

Sheik growled. "Only because you keep telling Impa there are people trying to kidnap me, which is clearly not the case! You will tell her that everything's okay and that I can go back to regular classes now."

Link had lost the thread. Who the hell was Impa? His stomach was doing flips, however, at the prospect of Sheik agreeing to be his model. If only Kafei wasn't there to ruin everything.

Wait, house arrest?

"Here," Sheik said, stepping closer to Link, his phone held out. "Give me your number."

"Uh..." Link rattled off his phone number, or what he really _hoped_ was his phone number because his brain had turned into mush at being in such close proximity to his muse.

"Great," Sheik said, typing something quickly into his device. A moment later Link felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. "I've sent you a text with my contact info and I've saved yours in mine. Send me a text and we'll set it up. I should be free after five most days save the weekends."

"You won't," Kafei said sourly.

"Kafei, I _will_ tell Impa about your secret girlfriend if you don't help me with this," Sheik threatened. "You know I will."

The purple-haired man looked aghast. "You swore you never would!"

"Yes, well, I've altered the deal," he said. "Pray I don't alter it further."

"Did...did you just quote...?" Link hesitated.

"I did," Sheik confirmed, making a fist. "My favourite movie."

My muse is perfect, Link thought dreamily.

"Anyway, it's getting late, and my aunt _will_ send out a search party if we don't get home soon," Sheik said, stepping back and retrieving his backpack and guitar case. Link hoped it hadn't been damaged in the fall, but Sheik didn't seem concerned. It did look like a high-end item, probably made to take a few impacts. "I'll look at my schedule and text you the times I'm available," he told Link, smiling. "Text me back so we can arrange it all."

"Y-You got it," Link said, bowing again like an idiot. "Thank you so much!"

"No problem," Sheik said, grinning widely. "Come on, Kaf. I'm hungry."

Kafei didn't argue, only following Sheik in an exaggeratedly dejected manner. He did turn back to Link just before they got into a car that was the same shade of purple as his hair, giving Link the famous "I'm watching you"-look.

Link responded with a cheery wave, too happy about Sheik's agreement to really be bothered by the angry cousin who, honestly, didn't seem nearly as dangerous as he pretended to be. Easily brought to heel by Sheik, at least. Like one of those tiny, yapping dogs that have yet to realise they aren't wolves anymore.

He watched the car speed away, taking a moment to just...feel the happiness spreading to every corner of his being. He felt...energised. Like he could take on the world. He practically skipped back to the student dorms.

Sidon was very confused at the big hug Link gave him when he came home, but he was very happy to return it anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

A few days later found Link in the art room, once again courtesy of Pikango's key. The older man had been delighted to hear Link had finally found a motive he wanted to paint, practically hurling the key at Link.

"I better see some paint on that canvas when I come in tomorrow morning," he warned Link with a disciplinary finger wag. "Or I'll have to ask that sister of yours to decide on a motive for you. Knowing her, it'll be zombie-related."

Link had pledged right then and there to not chicken out. He'd never paint zombies. Ever.

As the time he and Sheik had agreed upon approached, however, Link felt more and more like zombies was more likely in his immediate future than he'd hoped. He was nervous, his stomach jumping anxiously, palms sweaty.

He checked his supplies for the fifteenth time in the last ten minutes, making sure he had all his colours, all his brushes. He also had a small supply of snacks and juice, in case Sheik got hungry. It was still early evening, but there was no telling how long these sessions would take so if sugar was needed, well, sugar they would have.

Fuck, he hoped he'd picked the right snacks. Link knew nothing about Sheik's preferences, but he'd gotten the usual suspects. He could only hope he wasn't picky.

His phone buzzed, and he nearly knocked over his easel as he started, definitely not making a very unmanly squeak in doing so. He steadied the easel before retrieving his phone, seeing a message from Zelda.

**Zel: when you're done with the painting, you should ask him out.**

He sighed and put his phone away, not bothering to reply. She'd been on him about this for the past few days, ever since she'd learned that he'd managed to track Sheik down by accident. She wouldn't take no for an answer, either, or listen to how it would be a very inappropriate thing to do...at least as long as they had this business relationship.

His phone buzzed again.

**Zel: don't you dare ignore me, or i'll have you play a Swamp-Thing in my next movie**

Knowing her, she'd make good on her threat, too. He huffed and typed a quick reply.

**Me: You'd have to catch me first.**

She replied almost immediately

**Zel: you say that like i wasn't the track star between the two of us**

**Me: Only because you always kicked me in the back of the knee when we were competing**

**Zel: details**

**Zel: you can thank me later, btw**

**Me: For what?**

**Zel: the distraction**

He wondered what the hell that was supposed to mean, but before he could ask there was a knock on the door.

Oh, right.

"C-Come in," he called out.

The door opened, and Sheik stepped inside a little hesitantly, dressed in the same hoodie he'd been wearing the night they'd first met. He was wearing his glasses, too, showing off his naturally red pupils.

They truly were stunning.

"I wasn't sure what to wear," Sheik admitted, closing the door behind him, scratching his neck a little awkwardly. "Figured I'd go with what I was wearing that night. Maybe jog the ol' inspiration a bit more, you know?"

"That's absolutely fine," Link said, maybe a little too eagerly judging by the Sheik's look of amusement. "You could've worn anything and it'd have been great."

"Good to know," Sheik said, nodding as he walked over and put his messenger bag (still proudly bearing the button saying **FUCK** on it) next to Link's backpack. "So...where do you want me?" he asked.

"Oh, uh, just right over here," Link said, showing Sheik the corner of the room where he'd set up his easel and paints. There was a chair, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to paint Sheik seated or standing yet.

"Huh," Sheik said.

"What?"

"Just...surprised there wasn't anything more elaborate." Sheik grinned. "Was expecting silk and satin, maybe a bed..."

Link had to turn away, cheeks burning as the image of Sheik stretched out on silk sheets, sans clothing, came unbidden to his mind's eye. That had to have been on purpose, surely?

"A regular portrait will be fine," he said, clearing his throat.

"Ah, maybe next time then," Sheik said.

Did he sound a little disappointed? Or was it Link's imagination? That was to blame for a lot of things lately, including one very awkward morning where Sidon had gotten an eyeful more than usual.

Not like Sidon hadn't seen it all before, but there was a difference these days since they'd agreed to be friends.

"So am I supposed to sit?" Sheik asked, gesturing to the chair.

"I haven't decided yet," Link said, busying himself with the lamp lest more images pop up in his head and make this even more awkward than it had to be.

"Fair, fair," Sheik said, nodding sagely. "You're the artist. So, how do we do this, exactly? Do we get started right away? Should I undress?"

Link's brain shut down entirely for about five seconds, leaving him staring at Sheik, completely gobsmacked as he desperately searched for something—anything!—to say in response to that. Had...Had he given Sheik the impression that this was supposed to be a nude portrait?

It...It was a tempting idea, certainly, but not what Link had been preparing—or, indeed, psyching—himself up for. Honestly the idea that he was going to be alone in a room with Sheik for an extended amount of time had been enough for him to go into an anxious frenzy.

And that grin was still plastered to Sheik's face. Was he joking? Was he being serious? Or was it a semi-joke, semi-serious thing? Link felt his cheeks burn as he—surely as a result of temporary insanity—decided to play along.

"Ah, w-well...if you're uncomfortable, maybe we can both be naked?" he said.

Wait, what? How was that playing along?! That was just escalating!

For a moment, Sheik's good-natured grin seemed to hold fast...and then something burst. Colour flooded the red-eyed pianist's face and turned it into something like a tomato as he looked away, giving a loud, high-pitched laugh that finished as a squeak.

Link felt like making such a sound himself, honestly, especially because fuck if that wasn't one of the cutest things he'd ever seen...but he squared himself up instead, trying to appear casual and comfortable with what he'd just suggested.

Like he'd done with tons of models.

As if he hadn't run like a coward from the nude anatomy class when the models had simulated the missionary position.

He'd never live that down.

"S-Sorry," Sheik said after taking a moment to recover, turning back to face Link with a face that was still a great deal redder than before. "I was trying to be cool by suggesting that...I've never done this before..."

"M-Me neither," Link admitted. "You're my first proper model outside of classes."

Sheik seemed surprise, blinking. "Really?"

"Uh, yeah," Link said. "I'm not...good with people."

"I...kinda got that feeling, in the parking lot, but I figured that might have been because you were out of your element," Sheik said, shifting awkwardly. "I'm pretty much the same. I don't really work with people a lot outside of classes. Don't really have the time for it, either."

"Oh," Link said, "am I stealing your time with this? I'm sorry—"

"No, no, don't worry about it," Sheik said quickly, cutting him off with a shake of his head. "I decided I wanted to do this, and I deliberately took the time for it. You didn't steal anything, don't worry."

"Ah...okay," Link said, breathing out a sigh of relief. "The last thing I want is for this to be a bother to you," he said. "After the way I acted..."

"What, keeping an eye out for me and recruiting another student to give me your contact information if they spotted me?" Sheik said, snorting. "I'd say that's a fairly normal thing to do."

Sure, if you left out the obsessive sketching, which Link had every intention of doing.

"Your cousin—"he began, but Sheik snorted again.

"Kafei's got a protective streak a mile wide and is an insufferable mother hen," he said, shaking his hand. It looked so delicate, his fingers long and slender. "When we went off to college, Impa told him and Paya—my other cousin—to look out for me. Kafei went all-out like a Sheikah warrior. He's harmless though."

Huh. That...made sense, Link supposed. Zelda was much the same. Well, she also combined said protection with relentless sibling torture, but he supposed that was just par for the course when both twins went to the same college.

"Trust me," Sheik said, "you don't need to worry about him."

"Okay, I won't," Link said, nodding. "Well...maybe we should get started?" He looked at his phone's clock. "Time's running."

"Oh, sure," Sheik said, straightening up. His cheeks had paled a bit during their talk, but they quickly turned red again (as did Link's) when he said this:

"I was...semi-prepared for nudity tonight," he said. "I really don't mind if...you know..."

This evening was not going to be good for Link's heart. His brain wasn't at its best either, apparently, because he replied with this:

"M-Maybe...shirtless? Do a chest-and-up kind of thing? I can take my shirt off too if that makes you more comfortable!"

Hylia above, it was like a mental train wreck in slow motion, and worst of all he wasn't the only victim of it.

"That...sounds good," Sheik said, blushing. "But there's no need for you to—"

"It's no problem!" Link said, wrenching off his T-shirt. "If you do it, I'll do it too! It's only fair!"

Sheik laughed as the shirt was coming off, but when he got a view of Link he fell silent, staring for a long, quiet moment. The workouts with Sidon were definitely paying off these days. Only when he gave a concerned hum did Sheik snap back into reality, clearing his throat as he busied himself with his hoodie.

"Ah, right...uh..."

It was unfair, really, how good the other boy looked. Sheik was not built heavily, most of him slender and elegant. There were muscles that saw use, certainly, but they were wiry and compact, more used to longevity rather than heavy lifting.

Fucking gorgeous, he was. From his flat, defined stomach to his visible collar bones, his skin dark and flawless.

Made Link want to paint on Sheik rather than canvas.

That was one thought too far, Link realised, shaking his head. Right, so, they were both shirtless and just talking to each other now. This was...not good. They had a job to do.

"Right, so," he said, pretending he hadn't just been ogling Sheik's body. "Shall we?"

"S-Sure," Sheik said, apparently doing a similar reset in his head as he gestured to the chair. "Mind if I sit?"

"Go ahead," Link replied with a nod. "I need to do a preliminary sketch first, so I think you'll be more comfortable sitting anyway."

Sheik sat down, and for a couple of minutes Link directed him through a few poses. he wanted something that showed off not only Sheik's striking eyes and face, but also the tightly coiled muscles of his torso. He decided he wanted capture Sheik from the middle of his chest and up. It would show off those collarbones, in particular.

They found a pose Sheik was comfortable with holding for an hour that would also look good, and Link got to work.

His hand shook a bit at first, but once he managed to get started it quickly calmed down, the familiar and soothing calm of painting soon falling over him. Usually he spent this time quietly, but he'd set up a portable speaker so Sheik wouldn't be completely bored. He'd just started one of his playlists, realising maybe that the latest hits weren't really up to a music student's standards.

"Want me to put on some classic instead?" he asked once he'd gotten the general shape of Sheik's head down.

He didn't expect Sheik's expression to screw up into one of annoyance.

"Please no," he said. "I have to listen to enough of that shit during classes and at home. What you've got playing now is fine, if a little too poppy for my taste."

That was surprising, but it made sense, Link supposed. "Doesn't get poppier than the Top 40," he said, taking out his phone and finding his music app. "Anything in particular you like?"

Sheik hummed. "Folk rock is always good," he said. "But I'll take regular rock too. Or heavy metal. Anything that's not classical, really."

"Well, maybe this'll suit you, then," Link said as he put on a playlist Zelda had put together specifically for him. It was all the heavy music she liked to listen to, but the more...accessible parts of it, as she called it. Not as much screaming, less double-bass drums, less buzzsaw guitars. The title was _Borderline Sellout_.

The first track wasted no time going all out. It hit hard and fast, but there was actual singing rather than growling, so Link could go along with it. The lyrics were...a mixed bag.

Sanctifying people with dynamite? Weird.

"Not bad," Sheik said, nodding minutely to the fast beat. "This your playlist?"

"My sister's," Link said, continuing to sketch him. "She made it for me so I'd grow up and get a big boy's musical taste. Or something. I don't remember exactly what she said. It was very insulting, either way."

"Well," Sheik said, grinning a bit. "Can't say I blame her. Top 40 isn't exactly...challenging music."

"As opposed to video game medleys," Link retorted, smiling behind the canvas when Sheik snorted.

"Those are actually pretty hard to transcribe to guitar, you know," Sheik protested. "If you don't get the tones right it just sounds awful."

"I'll take your word for it," Link said, beginning on Sheik's upper body. He was getting more comfortable, now. Talking about something other than undressing sure helped. "So, what made you want to study piano?" he asked.

"I didn't," Sheik said.

Link paused. "Huh?" he asked, peeking around the canvas.

"I didn't want to study the piano," Sheik said, his smile turning less bright. "Still don't, really."

Huh.

Link retreated behind the canvas. "Sorry, didn't mean to—"

"No need to apologise," Sheik said. "It's just the truth. I didn't want to play the piano. Had to anyway. I fucking hate it. That's partly why I was so angry that night we first met." He cleared his throat. "Again, I'm sorry for screaming at you."

"You looked like you needed to vent," Link said. "It's all right."

"It's really not," Sheik said. "But thank you. I'm trying to learn a difficult piece that I'm supposed to recite in a few months and I just can't get it down. Fucking sausage fingers refuse to move."

"Your fingers are beautiful," Link muttered.

Something that sounded like a choking sound came from behind the canvas, but Link was too busy focusing on the sketch (and definitely not ashamed of his comment) to dare look.

"Th-Thank you," Sheik said.

Why the fuck would he say something that weird?

Zelda was right—he was a walking disaster of a person.

Only she meant it affectionally—Link never did.

The sketching continued. The playlist ran its course, the music washing over Link and refusing to stick. Sheik sometimes hummed along and whispered the chorus to himself.

It was cute. Link wanted to hear more of it.

"And you?" Sheik said after a while. Link glanced at him, re-committing the details to memory as he continued the sketch.

"Me?" he asked.

"What made you want to study art?"

"It's the only thing I've ever really loved, I guess," Link said with a shrug. It wasn't a difficult question to answer.

He'd spent most of his childhood drawing, colouring, and painting. It had honestly worried his father at some points because he could get so easily drawn into his art that he'd forget to do...well, everything else. Dad had joked to them that Zelda would need to keep an eye on Link at college, otherwise he'd never leave his dorm.

Well, that wasn't too far from the truth, as the last month had proven so clearly.

"Sounds nice," Sheik said with a sigh.

"You wouldn't study music if you had a choice?" Link asked.

"Oh, I'd definitely be studying music, I think," Sheik said. "Or maybe not. Maybe I'd put everything into a band, or my Voca-P career."

"Your what?"

"Uh, never mind," Sheik said quickly. "Inside term. Just music production, you know."

"Okay," Link said. "But having a degree is pretty useful in your field, right?"

"I guess?" Sheik said. "A lot of it is about connections, especially in the concert circuit. Sure, you gotta pass auditions and the like, but to even get them in the first place? Yeah, can't just show up with a degree. Can't imagine it's any easier in the art field either."

"To say the least," Link said with a groan, standing back and looking at Sheik. "I try not to think too much about what I'm going to do after college. Too daunting."

"Agreed," Sheik said, grinning. "So, how are we coming along?"

"Sketch is almost done," Link said, looking at the nearly finished phantom form of Sheik before checking his phone. About five minutes left of their agreed-upon appointment. "I think we can start painting tonight, if you have the time...and patience."

"Oh, I have the patience," Sheik said. "My cousins, on the other hand..."

"Ah."

The last thing he wanted was to get caught by Kafei in this position—both of them topless. He'd definitely get the wrong idea.

"Best leave it there for tonight, then," he said, giving Sheik a smile. "You can put your hoodie back on."

"It was getting kinda cold," Sheik said as he re-dressed.

You're telling me, Link thought as he put his T-shirt back on. Could have cut glass, those things. As his head emerged from the neck hole, he spotted the pile of snacks he'd brought.

Fuck.

He'd completely forgotten to offer Sheik any.

"Juice!" he shouted, making Sheik start and nearly lose his balance, still struggling with his hoodie.

"What?!"

"Juice," Link repeated, feeling like an idiot, pointing at the snacks. "Want some?"

When art was out of the picture, his social idiocy returned, it seemed. Yay. Luckily, Sheik didn't seem to mind, nodding happily.

"Yes please," he said. "I was getting thirsty."

"I'm sorry," Link said regretfully as he handed Sheik a box. "I was going to offer you at the start, but I got distracted and stupid, so..."

"I don't mind," Sheik said, immediately sipping from the straw. "Can't remember everything, right?"

"Heh, I guess. Cookie?"

They'd only gotten started on the sugary snacks when the door burst open, revealing a panting, sweaty-looking Kafei. Face flushed and red, he cast a suspicious glance around the room before alighting on Link and Sheik...sharing juice boxes and cookies.

"Oh thank...the gods..." the purple-haired man muttered, sinking to his knees.

"What's the matter with you?!" Sheik exclaimed. "Don't fucking come crashing in like that! How'd you even get in without a key?!"

"Had to...make sure..." Kafei panted.

"Of?" Sheik demanded.

"That whatever horrible scenario he'd conjured up in his head wasn't happening," a female voice said as someone else entered the room.

Her hair was a silvery blonde, gathered into a simple ponytail. She was dressed in a nice, professional-looking pantsuit that accentuated her powerful frame—definitely not a woman who skipped any day at the gym. A pair of aviators just like Kafei's were tucked into the chest pocket. Her eyes—crimson like Sheik's—surveyed the art room quickly.

"And what do you know? Nothing untoward happening."

"Paya-nee," Sheik said, mood instantly going from sour to happy as he waved to her from his seat next to Link.

"How'd it go?" she asked, stepping over Kafei's still prone, heaving body. The question was asked in a casual tone, but Link could see concern in her eyes as she quickly looked Sheik over.

"It went fine," Sheik said, deftly tossing her a juice box, which she caught with no effort, barely even looking at the missile coming her way. "Turns out Link really _is_ an artist and really _does_ want to paint a portrait of me."

"I believed you," Paya said, nodding towards Kafei. " _Him_ , on the other hand..." She let the sentence hang, focusing on Link as she, somehow, managed to stick her straw into the juice box with one hand. Link wasn't even sure she did it on the right side of the box. She held out her other hand. "I'm Paya, Sheik's cousin."

Her grip was firm and strong. Definitely the sort that could easily break Link's hand if she so wished. He smiled at her, but he suspected it came out crooked, the sort one did when slightly terrified for one's life.

"I'm Link, nice to meet you."

"I apologise for Kafei's dramatics," she said, jerking her thumb in Kafei's direction. "You wouldn't think he was a law student, but I can assure you he is."

"Oh..."

"I feel sorry for whatever firm ends up hiring him," Sheik said.

"Thank you," Kafei said, rising from his position in the doorway, skulking around the room. "I'll have you know I'm in the top three of my class."

"When you bother going," Paya said.

"And you?" Link asked, not sure he wanted to imagine Kafei in a courtroom.

Oh Hylia above, imagine Kafei as a _judge_!

"Economics and business," Paya said.

"She's taking over the family business," Sheik said, sounding proud.

"Maybe," Paya said. "Or maybe I'll break out on my own. Who knows."

"What the fuck is this?!" Kafei exclaimed from the corner of the room. "Why is my baby cousin naked?!" He was pointing accusingly at the sketch, featuring the shirtless Sheik. Shit, Link really should have covered it up when he was finished. "You!" Kafei shrieked, whirling around and glaring at Link. "I _knew_ you were suspect!"

"I'm shirtless, you idiot, not naked!" Sheik shouted back.

"I can see your nipples! This is obscene!"

"What are you, a prude?! And don't call me your fucking baby cousin!"

"But you are!"

"Shut up!"

As the two of them squared up against each other, Link suddenly felt like he was being watched. And he was. Paya's eyes were practically drilling holes into his skull.

"I don't think I have to say this, but I will anyway," she said quietly. "If you hurt or otherwise take advantage of my cousin, Link, there won't a place on this planet you can hide. We are Sheikah—we _will_ find you. Is that understood?"

Unlike Kafei's threats, which were easily ignored and otherwise swallowed up by his impotent rage, Paya's struck Link's very core, his nerves immediately standing on end as he saw no hint of a lie in her eyes. They'd find him...and he didn't want to _know_ what they'd do after.

"U-Understood," he said once his tongue started working again. "I really am j-just a painter."

She smiled, and this time it actually reached her eyes. "Good, then we won't have a problem. This is good juice, by the way."

"Ah..."

"—it's my life, and what I do with it is none of your business!" Sheik finished, having gone on a prolonged rant at his older cousin. "So stop sticking your big nose in it!"

Kafei stared at him with an empty gaze that suggested absolutely none of it had stuck to his brain. "But you're my baby cousin," he said, as if that explained everything. "I must protect you."

Sheik gave a snarl and turned back to Paya and Link, having failed to notice the death threat that had just been conveyed. "Paya-nee, I think we need to go. Kafei's clearly run out of braincells for the day."

"It _is_ getting rather late," Paya said with a nod as she crushed the juice box in her hand and threw it into the bin. "Kaf, let's go."

"But, the porn—"he tried, but she cut him off with a hiss.

"We are _leaving_ ," she said. "Sheik, come on."

Link expected Sheik to argue, as he seemed wont to do, but he actually did as Paya said, quickly grabbing his stuff and joining her by the door. Kafei joined them somewhat reluctantly, giving Link another glare.

"It was very nice to meet you, Link," Paya said, bowing her head a little. "Please continue to take good care of Sheik."

"Ah, of course," Link said, unsure if he should bow as well. He did anyway, just to be sure. Paya seemed amused, grabbing Kafei by the shoulder and dragging him into the corridor.

Sheik lingered, giving Link a hesitant smile.

"I had fun tonight," he said. "I'll text you with details about my next available evening?"

"Sounds good," Link said. "I had fun too."

"Right...see you then," Sheik said...without actually leaving. He remained in the doorway for another few seconds, holding Link's gaze, and looked like he was about to say something when—

"Sheik, come on!" Kafei's mellifluous shriek echoed down the hall, causing him to jump into action.

"Bye," he added before disappearing into the dark corridor, leaving Link alone in the art room.

As he cleaned up the remains of the snacks, the speaker, and his art supplies, he briefly wondered if he'd made the right choice in motive for his painting, given the amount of, ah, excitement Sheik and his cousins seemed to bring. Maybe he should've gone with someone calmer, less prone to explosive outbursts and...

He caught sight of the sketch. The outline of Sheik's face stared back at him. It was so easy to fill in the details of the real thing as he looked at the delicate pencil lines. The little twitch of his nose when Link said something funny and he tried to hide his smile, the fierce glint in his eyes when Kafei annoyed him, his slender torso, his...his...

He couldn't even think it, his face heating up.

Yeah, no, he'd definitely made the right choice, he decided. He could only hope the finished result wouldn't cause havoc.

He covered the canvas up and left the art room, turning off the lights. For once, he wasn't creeped out by the darkness and silence, as his all his thoughts revolved around the sketch, and Sheik, and the future painting, and Sheik...

He locked the art building door behind him and went home, briefly wondering how the hell Paya and Kafei _had_ gotten inside the building when Link and Sheik had the only keys...

He supposed he wouldn't really like the answer, so he decided to leave it for now.

Some knowledge just wasn't meant for mortal minds.


	5. Chapter 5

Link wished he could say that the next couple of sessions were a far cry from the first in terms of embarrassment. If he did, however, he'd be a liar. It was like the fates were watching him and deciding to make an utter fool of him as he tried to appear semi-competent at his chosen artistic field.

He kept making mistakes with the paint. Sometimes the entirely wrong colour came out even though he was sure he was making the correct blends. Other times he got so distracted with trying to make Sheik comfortable that he started painting over details he'd just gotten down perfectly. He wanted to scream in agony at those times.

And may have done just that a couple of times.

Luckily, Sheik was understanding. Very understanding, in fact.

"I'm not in a hurry," he'd said after Link profusely apologised for yet again screwing up a minor but important detail. "Take your time."

And he'd done that soft smile of his again. The damned thing was going to be the death of Link, he was sure, based on how his heart just about tried to leap out of his chest every time he was recipient of one. It was almost tempting to scrap the original vision of the portrait and paint Sheik looking serene instead.

But no.

It was his ferocity that kept waking Link's inspiration, and the one he was so desperate to get down. Maybe he'd ask Sheik nicely if he would sit for another portrait later.

And maybe he could persuade him to put on a ninja outfit. Pose with a sword, too, perhaps.

"Something wrong?" Sheik asked as Link shook his head fiercely, trying to banish the tantalising images from his mind.

"Nothing," he said quickly, looking down at his palette and finding, to his immense relief, that the right blend was still there. Or...was it the right blend? "Can I ask you something?" he said.

"Sure," Sheik said. "Not sure if I'm willing to take my pants off quite yet, though," he added jokingly.

Oh, if only, Link thought.

"I'm about to paint your eyes," he actually said. "And I'm wondering which colour to use."

"What do you mean?" Sheik asked.

Link peeked out from behind the canvas, looking at Sheik. He'd been wearing his glasses tonight (removed for the portrait, of course), so his gaze was returned by crimson pupils. Beautiful. Link could get lost in them forever.

"You wear those green contacts from time to time," Link elaborated. "I can't help but wonder why and if I should paint them green or red." He cleared his throat. "You don't need to tell me why, just which."

"Oh," Sheik said, hesitating. "Well...back home, red eyes aren't exactly...appreciated everywhere. It became a bit of a habit if I was going somewhere with a lot of unknowns. We all tend to do that. Out here it hasn't been necessary, but, uh...well, I still do when I'm performing, for example. Helps put me at ease, you know?"

Ah.

Link couldn't blame him for that. A stab of anger flared up in his chest on Sheik's behalf. Of all the things to cause trouble ever, eye colour wasn't exactly at the top of Link's list.

"I see," he said after a moment. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Sheik said, smiling again. "It's not your fault."

"So...uh...would you like me to paint them green?"

Sheik shook his head. "Nah, I like my eyes. And this portrait is supposed to show _me_ as I am, isn't it?"

Link smiled back. "Red it is, then," he said.

The blend turned out perfect, in fact.

* * *

"So, your sister's a film student?"

They were having snacks after the fourth session, waiting for Sheik's cousins to come pick him up. They insisted on that, though it varied which one came. Link wasn't sure if he preferred Kafei or Paya—they had very different energies.

Two more sessions, Link surmised, and they'd be done. It was a sad thought.

"Yeah," he replied with a nod. "She focuses on directing and script writing—she doesn't like acting very much."

Which was why Link had been the unfortunate chosen one of her early films in high school. Why she'd kept going with him as an actor instead of, say, one of the other kids who were _actually_ interested in acting, was beyond him. He suspected it was just her usual sibling sadism at work.

"I guess I'll be seeing her name a lot in the years ahead then, huh?" Sheik said, chuckling.

"Only if you're into horror and slasher movies," Link said. "That's her favourite genres and what she hopes to work in. She made a zombie parkour film for a final project last year."

"Zombie parkour? Now that I want to see!"

He looked so excited; Link had already promised him a copy before he remembered that Sheik would very likely see a heavily done-up Link get his brains smashed in.

"I'll make Kafei watch it with me," Sheik said, rubbing his hands together in a show of sadistic glee. "He hates horror movies. Can't stand them, the big baby. He'll be blubbering into Elenwe's lap the entire time."

"Elenwe?"

Sheik paused. "Ah, shit...his girlfriend," he said, scratching his neck awkwardly. "No one's really supposed to know he has one. Or that she's a Gerudo."

"That's a problem?" Link asked.

"Not for me, or any of the younger Sheikah," Sheik said quickly, shaking his head. "Hell, she's good for Kafei and his idiocy. But...well, the older Sheikah don't really like the Gerudo all that much. Still bad blood there, even after so long. So, uh, don't tell anyone I told you, okay?"

Well, Sheik already kind of had, hadn't he? In the parking lot, when he'd threatened Kafei. Not that Link had known the backstory.

"My lips are sealed," he promised, crossing his heart. "No one will hear it from me."

"Thanks," Sheik said, sighing in relief. "I'm usually better at keeping secrets than this. Something about this room, just...puts me at ease, I guess."

"Me too," Link said.

He neglected to say it wasn't the room, but his motive. Sure, being around Sheik apparently turned Link into a clumsy idiot of an oaf, but at the same time he couldn't remember the last time he'd been so...comfortable around someone who wasn't Zelda or Sidon. Didn't stop his heart from trying to explode whenever they were close, of course, but one couldn't have everything.

"You're in love with him, you idiot," Zelda had said with a frustrated groan after Link had told her this for the fifteenth time in-between sessions. "Ask him out already!"

He'd looked to Sidon for assistance, but the big bastard had just nodded sagely over his ice cream. "She's right," he said. "You should ask him out. That double date offer still stands, you know!"

And then they'd spent the rest of the evening tormenting him about it, trying to coach him on how to ask Sheik out. It took all his energy not to fall prey to the urge.

He had a job to do first, though. Maybe he'd consider asking Sheik out once the painting was done.

Maybe.

Unless he died of a heart attack first, which was a real danger that increased every time Sheik smiled at him.

"I can see why you enjoy painting so much," Sheik said, breaking Link out of his reverie. "I wish I could feel this calm all the time."

"Music doesn't do that for you?" he asked.

Sheik grimaced. "Some music," he said. "Not all."

"So...classical piano?" Link ventured.

"Pretty sure it takes years off my life every time I have to listen to or play it," was the immediate reply. "I'll be a ghoul by this time next year, mark my words. Now that'll be an interesting portrait!"

Link snorted. "I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to do you justice," he said. And then, because he was an idiot, he added: "I can barely do it now, even."

Sheik choked on his juice, looking away as he coughed, cheeks burning brightly.

Then Link's brain caught up with what he'd just said, and he choked on his cookie.

And that was how Paya found them when she entered the art room, both about to die from the lack of oxygen. She calmly and methodically went about hitting their backs until they could both breathe again.

"You ought to be more careful," she lectured them with a severe expression. "And you're lucky it was me today. Kafei would've assumed you'd been poisoned."

Link tried to imagine the ruckus he'd cause over that. It'd be a nightmare. He highly suspected a defenestration would've been Kafei's immediate response.

"We can't stick around tonight," Paya continued, looking a little regretful. "Impa has requested a video conference with you tonight, Sheik."

"Why?" Sheik asked, looking suspicious.

"She wouldn't say," Paya said, shrugging. "You're due in twenty minutes."

"Shit," Sheik said. "Guess we gotta go, then." He looked to Link, giving him a sad look. "Sorry to leave you high and dry—"

"It's fine," Link said, nodding. "Don't worry. Let me know when you're available again."

"You got it!"

And then they were gone, leaving Link feeling no small amount of relief that his gaffe had been forgotten in Paya's arrival. Hopefully it'd _stay_ forgotten. He couldn't afford to slip up like that again.


	6. Chapter 6

A storm blew in. Not unusual for a coastal town, but the timing was terrible since it meant Link had to walk all the way across campus while it was pissing down.

It was a soggy and annoyed Link that stepped into the art room and turned the lights on, quickly shrugging off his soaked jacket and hanging it up on an unused easel, and then getting out the snacks.

One thing he'd learned over the last few weeks was that Sheik had a sweet tooth. It wasn't immediately obvious, but if you put a pack of cookies in front of Sheik and looked away it'd be nearly empty by the time you looked back.

How he managed to do it, Link didn't know, but he was nothing but impressed. It was honestly adorable, and Link made sure to keep an ample supply for their breaks and after-session talks.

Those were Link's favourite moments, bar none. It was sad, then, that this was likely the second-to-last session. The turn-in was due in two weeks, but Link was confident he didn't need more than one if he and Sheik could squeeze in two sessions this week.

Would...Would Sheik be interested in meeting up with Link again, even after the painting was done?

He shook his head, opening a juice box and chugging the contents. Zelda and Sidon had clearly gotten into his head, planting their little ideas in his mind.

He had to stay professional, above all. Yes, he could admit to himself that he found Sheik absolutely gorgeous and definitely wouldn't mind the opportunity to take him out on a date and possibly k...kiss. But as long as they were painter and subject that could never happen, and the last thing Link wanted was to make things awkward.

Who was to say Sheik was even interested? For all Link knew he was simply doing this out of kindness, taking time out of his clearly busy schedule to pose for Link. Or maybe he did it specifically to get a break from said schedule. Link could hardly begrudge him that.

He shook his head again. Best not get caught up in such thoughts. Whatever his reasons were, he was doing exactly what Link needed him to, and his reasons were his own. Maybe, just maybe, Link would take a chance and ask him out for coffee when the painting was done.

As a sign of good will.

...and maybe then as a date if Sheik proved receptive.

Not that Link would know if he were, but maybe he could have Sidon watching from the shadows and give him a signal if Sheik was giving off the vibes Link was completely blind to.

Outside, the rain continued. Every now and then, a flash of lightning lit up the world in the distance. Minutes trickled by. Five, ten, fifteen. By the time twenty minutes past their agreed-upon time had passed, Link was starting to fear Sheik wasn't coming.

It was fair enough, he supposed, given the weather, but he would've appreciated the heads-up from Sheik if that were the case. It would've saved him the wet socks.

He was about to send Sheik a text asking where he was when he heard footsteps echoing down the hall. They squeaked with the sound of wet rubber against stone floor. The door opened and Sheik strode in, looking damn-near drowned.

"Hey," Link said with a smile. "Thought you weren't coming."

"Sorry," Sheik said, not looking at him as he shrugged off his jacket, which clearly hadn't done much to keep the water out judging by the way Sheik's t-shirt was clinging to him. "Got held up, and my phone died."

"Oh...sorry."

"No, I'm sorry," Sheik said, removing his shirt and running his fingers through his wet hair, still not looking at him, before heading for his seat. "Let's go."

"R-Right," Link said, putting his snack down before heading to his place behind the canvas. "Are you okay?" he asked carefully.

Something was very off with Sheik today. Was he angry? He seemed so...closed-off.

"I'm fine," Sheik said, not sounding fine at all, but his tone leaving no room for argument either. At least, Link didn't dare to see if there was any room.

"Okay," Link said. "Could...Could you turn your head a little more towards me?"

"Sure," Sheik said shortly, doing exactly that. He wasn't looking at Link, though. He didn't seem to be looking at anything at all, in fact, his gaze...well, not empty, but definitely not entirely there. Those weren't the eyes that had captivated Link so much. They were...

He sighed quietly and focused on general shape of Sheik's face instead. He was leaving the eyes for last anyway, to make sure they were the centrepiece.

The session was awkward. Where before the silence had been continually broken by little snippets of conversation and shared laughs, there was only uncomfortable silence now. Link tried to start up conversation a few times, but Sheik's responses were either non-existent or monosyllabic.

Link was honestly starting to worry that he'd pissed off Sheik somehow when he heard a shuddering intake of breath. He peeked around the canvas. Sheik was still holding his pose, that same faraway look on his face...but visibly shivering.

Oh fuck, he must have been freezing!

Gods, why was Link such an idiot?!

"Hang on," he said, putting down his brush and grabbing his bag, thankful for his foresight in bringing a towel in case he got even more soaked than he had. "Here," he said, handing it to Sheik. "Dry yourself off, you must be cold."

"I'm f—"

"You're shivering," Link said seriously. "I won't have you get sick on my watch." He paused, humming. "Honestly, you don't really need to be shirtless tonight—I'm focusing on your face, anyway. Here." Before Sheik could protest, he'd wrenched his own T-shirt off and thrust it into Sheik's hands, nearly causing him to drop the towel. "Dry off and put that on," he said, ignoring the chilly air of the art room.

He was the artist; he was the one who was supposed to suffer.

He busied himself with preparing more blends for his palette, listening to the sounds of rustling fabric as Sheik dried himself off as much as he could. He looked back after a minute or so, happy to see Sheik now wearing Link's shirt. It was a little big on him on account of Link's broader shoulders, but frankly that was just cute.

"Better?" he asked brightly.

"Mmm," Sheik hummed.

"Good!"

He hoped it'd help Sheik's mood. It was wonders, how much getting warm could improve one's mood. Hylia knew nothing improved Link's disposition than being warm and dry.

"I guess we should've rescheduled, huh?" he said, continuing to work on Sheik's right cheek, trying to get the shading just right to bring out his cheekbone. Like carved out of marble, it was, and it was difficult to do it justice. Link was determined, though. "I thought about calling you, but you got here before I could. I'm sorry about that."

No response. Not unexpected. It'd probably take a while for Sheik to warm back up. What _was_ unexpected was another shuddering intake of breath. Was he still cold? He looked around the canvas, about to suggest they try to find something else for him to wear. All Link had was his wet jacket and that wasn't going to help—

He paused. Something on Sheik's cheek was catching the light from the art room lamps, practically sparkling. It looked wet...dripping from his hair?

He shrugged, continuing to work. Then, the unmistakeable sound of a sniffle, quiet and barely audible. It was cold, a nose was bound to run.

Wait...

Link looked back around. Another droplet ran down Sheik's cheek.

Was there a leak somewhere? What could he be...?

...oh.

His shoulders were visibly shaking, but not from the cold.

Sheik was crying.

Link's chest clenched tightly, and before he realised what he was doing, he was rushing forward, desperate to do...something. Anything to help him.

Unfortunately, the easel was in the way. He caught with his knee, sending it wobbling before falling over. Link didn't care. Well, until he realised it fucked with his balance and nearly sent him bowling Sheik over. He managed to catch himself just in time, managing to wrap his arms around Sheik and turn the stumble into an impromptu hug instead.

"Wha—What are you doing?!" Sheik exclaimed, going stiff under Link's embrace, voice wet and tight with suppressed...something. "The painting, you knocked over the f-fucking painting!"

"It's fine," Link said, tightening his hold on Sheik when he realised the other wasn't struggling. This was...probably not an okay thing to do, but it was all he could do. He couldn't help it. Sheik was in pain and Link wanted to...needed to help him. "It landed the right side up, didn't it?"

He had no idea.

Sheik released another shuddering breath. "Y-Yeah, but that's not th-the fucking point, idiot," he said.

Oh good, they were okay, then.

"No, this is the point," Link said, daring to reach up and stroke the hair at the nape of Sheik's neck. It was still wet and cold, but also soft.

He was really pushing it, he knew, which was why it surprised him so much when Sheik drew yet another shuddering breath...and his arms wrapped around Link's middle, so tight. A hot, wet breath washed over his shoulder as Sheik practically buried his face in the crook of Link's neck.

And the dam broke.

Sheik was not a pretty crier. It was all ugly, hiccupping sobs and snot as he clung to Link for dear life, shaking as Link continued to stroke his hair, whispering.

"It's okay," he murmured. "Let it out, I'm here..."

At some point he began to cry himself. He couldn't help it. He was a sympathy crier at heart. Whenever Zelda had cried when they were kids, he'd joined her right away. Hell, he could barely watch people crying in movies without feeling the works starting up in his eyes.

He'd always found it embarrassing, but...here, with Sheik? It felt...okay. It felt right.

"Wh-Why are you c-crying?" Sheik managed to stutter out, voice hoarse.

"Because y-you're crying," Link sobbed.

Sheik managed a chortle, which soon turned into more sobbing.

He had no idea how long they stood there, clinging to each other. Sheik seemed to have a lot to release, his grip on Link not easing even a little. He seemed to grow more upset when Link stopped stroking his hair, so clearly he was doing something right.

Only when Sheik's breathing finally calmed down and his hiccups died away did Link take the chance on easing up, pulling away from Sheik to look him over. His eyes were red (more than usual), as was his face. His face was absolutely drenched with snot and tears, and Link suspected he looked much the same.

"Feel better?" Link asked, his voice hoarse now as well.

"Y-Yeah," Sheik said, looking away. "Sorry..."

"Don't be," Link, pulling away entirely, not missing how Sheik seemed to reach for him, but quickly aborting the movement. "You clearly needed it." He coughed. "Hang on."

He grabbed the wet towel off the floor, handing one end of it to Sheik.

"Here," he said.

He'd almost started wiping at his muse's face himself, but that'd be one step too far, he felt. Sheik was vulnerable—not a toddler.

"Thanks," Sheik said, viciously wiping away the mess. "You're an ugly crier," he added.

"Oh, look who's talking," Link replied, snorting. It sounded wet. What flooded down the back of his throat was best not described. "Thought you were having an allergic reaction or something." He wiped at his face, trying to ignore the fact that it smelled like Sheik's hair.

Strawberry shampoo.

Cute.

"I could have," Sheik said, looking far better after wiping off the mess. "You could've been hugging me while I was dying."

Hylia, that was the last thing Link wanted to imagine right now.

"Yes, well, luckily it didn't come to that," he said, clearing his throat uncomfortably. The situation was catching up to him now, and while he didn't regret it, he wasn't sure how Sheik felt about the sudden hug and, well, arresting embrace. He turned his attention to the knocked-over easel and painting, relieved to see that it had indeed landed painted side up.

Weeks of work, right down the drain, if it had landed the other way around. And it would still have been worth it for the fact that he'd managed to help Sheik.

Or so he hoped.

"Sorry," Sheik said. "Again. I...this wasn't really a proud moment."

This was not the time for pride.

Or so Link wanted to tell him. But he didn't want to make Sheik feel worse than he already did. This was about building him back up.

"Don't apologise," Link said as he re-set the easel, happy to see no damage had been done to it or the painting. "I don't know what's wrong, but it was clearly bothering you. I'm just glad I could help." He paused. "Er...did I help?"

"Yes," Sheik said, genuinely smiling for the first time that night. "You did. Thank you..."

Oh fuck, that smile was going to be the death of Link. It made his chest swell just from looking at it. He had it bad for Sheik. So bad.

"Come on," he said, grabbing Sheik's wrist and dragging him towards the pile of snacks. "We need a break."

Sheik didn't resist, letting himself be led and seated in his usual chair, carefully grabbing a box of juice, drinking half of it in one go. Link did the same, so fucking thirsty all of a sudden.

Could one die from dehydration from crying?

"I...guess you have questions," Sheik said, breaking the silence after replenishing their sugar and fluid supplies. He was looking at the juice box in his hands, avoiding Link's gaze.

Not good.

"Only if you feel comfortable answering," Link replied. "If not I'll shut up and we can talk about something else instead...like...hm...oh, have you seen the swim team? My roommate Sidon is a member, and they're absolutely amazing."

Sheik snorted. "I haven't had the pleasure," he said, devouring a cookie in one bite. "Haven't really spent much time on campus outside of classes, really. Well, except for the painting sessions." He sighed. "And the reason is...well, the reason why I just...er...you know..." he gestured awkwardly to the Incident Site.

Link nodded slowly. "Do you...want to tell me?"

"Not really," Sheik said. "But I'll do it anyway."

He took a deep breath, held it, and released it slowly. Then another, and another.

"Remember the piece I was playing the night we met?" he finally asked.

"Yeah," Link said with a nod. How could he forget? He had no idea what it was, but the notes he'd heard, coaxed from the piano by Sheik's elegant and precise fingers, had embedded themselves in his brain.

"It's a Chopin piece," Sheik said. "One of five that I'm due to perform for a... _society_ in a month."

He spat the word "Society" like it tasted foul in his mouth.

"I've been practicing it for months, but I just...can't get it down. It's all these little..." He made his fingers waggle in what Link assumed was a sequence of notes. "This one particular part makes my fingers seize up, and I just can't hit the right fucking notes." He glared at his hand. "I have to hit them. It has to be perfect."

Link saw Sheik's shoulders rising higher and higher as he spoke, the stress he'd failed to see before quickly manifesting itself again. "Why?" he asked without really thinking.

"If it's not perfect," Sheik said, "then I'm a fucking failure, and I'll lose my shot."

The very idea of Sheik being a failure made Link angry, but he kept quiet. At least until he asked, "At what?"

"Everything," Sheik said with a sigh, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Remember my cousins? Paya and Kafei? They're gonna be bigshots someday. Paya in business, Kafei in law. They'll be perfect and successful. My aunt, Impa, runs a goddamn empire. And what can I do? I can play music. And only that. It's the one talent I have, and I can't even get the _fucking piece right_!"

His shout caught Link off-guard, nearly making him choke on his juice.

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to make it as a concert pianist? If you want to go anywhere you need to play for the big orchestras, the famous ones! And they don't just let anyone audition for them, no! Only the best, and only the brightest, and only if you can impress them right away! If I fuck up this piece in front of them? That's my career in the shitter for the rest of my life!"

He was more or less shouting everything now, but Link didn't have the heart to ask him to quiet down. Whatever he was letting out had clearly been kept locked up for a long time.

"And what will my family think of me then, huh?" Sheik asked. "The only failure among them! I even got special treatment because they all think I'm so fucking talented! What'll happen when they realise it's all lies, huh?"

He stood up and paced back and forth, fists clenched hard at his sides.

"I never even liked the piano in the first place," he growled. "I just picked it up because it's what my mother played, and it made my aunt happy! And now I'm just going to disappoint her and all the rest!"

He paused, breathing heavily, staring at his feet. "I just wanted to make them happy," he said. "Mom, dad, Impa...everyone."

Link stared, unable to find the words. "I...I'm sorry," he said. "I had no idea..."

"No one did," Sheik said, reaching up to wipe away another stray tear that had escaped captivity. "Until now." He sighed, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. "I always liked guitar the best," he said with a chuckle. "I never dared to tell Impa because...well, how many guitarists are there in the world? I can't hope to stand up to the really technical players in that either. So I kept my head down and focused on the piano, hoping that maybe someday something would just...click in my head, and I'd start enjoying it the same way the truly excellent players out there do. But...it hasn't happened yet. Starting to fear it never will."

"Can't you...you know...tell her? Them?" Link said.

Sheik shook his head. "A little too late for that," he said. "A lot of money was spent so I could go to this school, which has the finest programme in the country," he said. "On top of that, Impa hired a small army of private tutors who keep drilling me on everything from music theory to practical playing. I do hand exercises every fucking day to increase my dexterity—there's even a tutor for _those_!"

He pushed off the wall and dejectedly threw himself back into the chair, grabbing a cookie and eating it whole.

Link swore he didn't even see him chew it.

"I'm almost _hoping_ that I fuck up the recital, you know," he said after a moment. "Just so I can be...free of it. But I wouldn't be free, because I know they'd all be so fucking...disappointed."

"I wouldn't be," Link said, his mouth bypassing his brain filter again. "You could never disappoint me."

Sheik snorted. "Good to have at least one person in my corner."

"You don't think Paya and Kafei are in your corner?" Link asked, raising an eyebrow. "They practically worship you."

"For my talent," Sheik said.

"At no point has any of them ever mentioned piano when I've been around them," Link pointed out. "We always talk about something else. And I can tell they're proud of you, but not just for your music. Sheik, even if you abandoned music altogether, I doubt they'd even care."

"Easy to say," Sheik said. "But they've been with me since I was a baby. At this point it's probably a habit—"

"You think Kafei having a mental breakdown every time he sees that topless painting of you is a habit?" Link pointed out. "Or Paya threatening to skewer me if I hurt you in any way?"

Sheik paused, looking at him, eyes still wet but thankfully not running over anymore. "She did that?" he asked.

"Well, it was more of an implied threat," Link said, shrugging. "Well, maybe not implied. She said there'd be nowhere for me to hide."

Sheik snorted. "That's Paya. A chip off the old Impa block."

"What kind of business is your aunt even in?"

"These are good cookies," Sheik said, ignoring the question entirely.

Link could take a hint. What he _couldn't_ take was the sight of Sheik looking so dejected and sad. He'd never been good with words—his talent had always been in colours and art, but...fuck it, he was going to try anyway.

He stood up and walked to the other side of the table, reaching for and grabbing Sheik's wrist gently. Sheik jerked from the sudden motion, but didn't resist even as Link pulled a little, letting his fingers slide along the inside of his wrist before their palms touched. He curled his fingers, wrapping them so he was holding Sheik's hand firmly.

"Sheik," he said, making the other look up from their joined hands, so their eyes could meet. "Whatever you may think of yourself, whatever you think your family will think...I'm proud of you. Your music, whether it's played on the piano or guitar, is the most beautiful I have ever heard. It's the most magical thing I have ever experienced—and I hope I'll get to hear you play more in the future."

Sheik stared up at him, eyes wide, lips pursed in a silent question that never came out. What he did manage to eventually say broke all Link's self-control.

"Really?" Sheik asked quietly. So earnestly. Like he didn't believe it...but desperately wanted to.

"Really," Link said, leaning down and kissing him.

It was a short, chaste thing, quickly ended because...well, Link knew he was overstepping a lot of boundaries, plus he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop if he let himself indulge.

He leaned back, enjoying the look of shock that came across Sheik's face when he realised what had just happened, his cheeks colouring in such a lovely manner.

"Sorry," Link said apologetically. "That was..."

"Do it again?"

He paused. "Uh?"

"Please...do it again," Sheik said, his voice positively tiny. "I..."

Well, he'd done it now. And what could Link do other than obey such a polite request.

The second kiss lasted a little longer, but Link didn't dare let it be more than a firm press of his lips against Sheik's, along with a squeeze of his hand. Sheik squeezed back, making a quiet groaning sound in the back of his throat that made Link's stomach jump with delight.

They parted, staring into each other's eyes, panting a little.

Was...was this...?

Link was about to ask when suddenly the world lit up in a brilliant flash, and a roll of thunder made the entire building shake, so loud he could swear he felt his eardrums pop. The rain crashed against the window so hard Link feared they'd shatter.

"Geez, you'd think it was the end of the world out there," Link muttered, looking back at Sheik...whose face was now red as a tomato, eyes looking anywhere but at him. Link felt his own face heat up as well.

Fuck, had he just done what he thought he had?

He wasn't given any more time to wonder, however, as the door to the art room suddenly opened and Paya and Kafei marched inside. They looked surprisingly dry.

"Time to leave," Paya said. "The storm's getting worse."

"Yeah," Kafei agreed, looking at his phone. "Impa just told us to get our asses home anyway, so—"he looked up. "Why are you naked?" he asked Link.

"Topless," he mindlessly corrected.

Evidently, it was the wrong thing to say because Kafei's mouth opened and a deep breath was taken, suggesting a loud shriek was about to be unleashed. Thankfully, Paya slapped her hand over his mouth before he could release it.

"Not important right now," she said. "Link, Sheik, grab your stuff and let's get out of here. Link, we'll drive you to your dorm."

The rest of the session passed by in a blur for Link as he covered up the painting as best he could and placed the easel in a sheltered spot (just in case the windows did break), after which he got his t-shirt back from Sheik (damn it, he could have kept it for all Link cared), and they gathered their things.

They were herded out of the art building (Link again tried to ask how they'd gotten inside without a key, but all he'd gotten was a shrug from all three of them) and into a sleek-looking black car. Paya drove, with Kafei in the passenger seat and Link and Sheik in the back.

The trip to his dorm went by in a jiffy, even though Paya took it slowly because of the rain, and before he knew it he was back inside his room, where Sidon was (as usual) snoring loudly.

"I'll text you when I'm free next," Sheik had promised. He'd touched Link's hand in a way that could have been perfectly friendly...or even _more_ friendly. It was hard to tell.

All Link knew was that they'd kissed. Twice.

And that was _all_ he could think about as he got ready for bed. He wasn't even sure what he'd said in response when Sidon woke up and asked him how it had gone.

As he tried to sleep, he swore he could feel the phantom sensation of Sheik's lips on his.

He wanted more.

He couldn't wait for the next session.


	7. Final Chapter

"You kissed him!" Zelda shouted, her pitch easily reaching dog-whistle levels. She exploded out of her chair, looking at him with utter shock. "You...kissed him?!"

From the other side of the table, Link nodded, relieved and shocked that he'd finally let on the secret.

"I did," he said. It still made him blush, thinking about it, even after a week had passed. He could still feel the sensation of Sheik's slightly chapped lips on his.

Next to him, Sidon was beaming. "Well done!" he said, thumping Link's shoulder gently with his fist. "I knew you could do it!"

"How!" Zelda demanded, her voice echoing in her little kitchen. "Details, now!"

Link retold the tale as best he could, leaving out the exact details of Sheik's breakdown. It wasn't his place to say. To say his sister's face was awestruck wouldn't be exaggerating, as if this was something completely unprecedented in the history of the world.

Well, Link taking charge for once—for a given value of the term—actually was, but she could have had the decency to pretend it wasn't, that she had some actual faith in her brother's ability to...well, not seduce someone but at least attract them.

Sidon was just...well, Sidon. Endlessly optimistic and enthusiastic, he gave the impression he thought Link hung the moon. Well, he gave that impression of everyone. Link doubted Sidon had ever met someone he didn't like or find interesting.

"Goddamn cousins," Zelda grumbled as Link finished the story. "They ruined everything."

"I doubt it," Link said. "I didn't really have a plan on what to do after—"

"You kiss him, you strip him, you take him to heaven and back," Zelda said, counting off her fingers. "What else do you need?"

"Protection?" Sidon said.

Link groaned, slamming his forehead into Zelda's kitchen table, setting the cutlery rattling. "What's wrong with you two?" he said, words muffled.

"We just want you to be happy, Link," Sidon said, patting Link's back. "And you've made excellent progress! I can't wait to hear what happens next!"

"Me neither," Zelda said, finally sitting down and leaning forward on the table, steepling her fingers. "We've got to have a plan, though," she said. "You've got condoms, right? Oh, and lube?"

Was this his punishment for some sort of sin he committed in a previous life? Was Zelda his own personal demon of torment? Everything she said and did went right past his defences and struck every nerve with the force of a sledgehammer.

"He can have some of mine," Sidon said. "I've got loads."

And Sidon wasn't much better, but his disguise was that of an angel. All the wickedness was kept bottled up behind a fair appearance.

"You've always got our backs, Sidon," Zelda said, bumping her fist against the swimmer's.

Link looked up at her, eyes wide. " _Our_ backs?" he asked. "You mean you've—"

"Duh," she said, like she hadn't just suggested that...that...oh, Hylia, save him! "There was one time when I ran out of—"

"Lalalalalalala, I am not listening!" Link shouted, covering his ears. "Let's talk about something else, please! Did something exciting happen lately?!"

Zelda and Sidon exchanged a hopeless look between them before Zelda nodded, motioning for Link to take his hands down.

"Fine, you big baby," she said. "So I was at the gym the other day."

"You've started going again?" Sidon asked, excited.

"Tentatively," Zelda said. "I'm still working up to actually, you know, working out."

"What are you doing there, then?" Link asked, fearing the answer.

"They have a good selection of tights in the clothing shop, you know," she said. "But that's not my point. You know that climbing wall they've got near the entrance? There was this girl, climbing all over it—no harness or anything—like it was nothing! Just...skittering all over the face like a spider!"

"Oh, that's impressive," Sidon said, nodding. "I've tried climbing that thing, but I've never made much progress. My grip strength just isn't good enough!"

"No problem with this girl's grip," Zelda said, sighing with admiration. "And her thighs...she could probably crush a melon between them with barely any effort."

"Oooh," Sidon said.

"Wish she'd crush my head," Zelda said wistfully. "Her hair was so beautiful, too. Silvery white, done up all prettily. I think she was a Sheikah, but I didn't get a good look at her face."

Link's eyes widened, and a shiver ran down his spine. No, it couldn't be...

He let the rest of that conversation fade away into the white noise of his brain, unwilling to face the possibility that his sister had been ogling Paya during a workout. The consequences could be dire. Luckily, the subject soon changed to something more innocuous (Zelda's latest project), and Link thought he might make it through the breakfast in one piece.

Until his phone buzzed. Without thinking, he took it out of his pocket, not realising everyone could see. His stomach both plunged and did cartwheels (somehow) when he saw it was a message from Sheik.

**Sheik: Tomorrow evening, 7PM. Don't be late. There's something I want to show you after.**

"Oh, he wants it," Zelda said.

Link felt like he was going to faint.

* * *

He was pacing. He couldn't help it. The clock was moving too fast and too slow at the same time, his heart was doing its best to jump out of his chest. The art room was quiet save for the ticking of the damned clock on the wall above the door, and he was tempted more than once to throw the damn thing out the window.

It was 6:50. He'd been there for half an hour already, terrified of being late. He'd arranged and rearranged his paints at least three times, and he was trying not to go for a fourth. He was dressed in...well, what he hoped was a semi-nice, semi-casual look of a button-up shirt and jeans that didn't look like they'd been through three wars and the apocalypse.

Why he was wearing this to a painting session, he could not explain.

Well, there was one easy explanation, and that was that he was a complete and utter idiot, but that pretty much summed up Link's whole existence as a whole. Just one long sequence of stupid, with little variations, just for zest.

He checked the time again.

6:55.

This was fucking torture.

There was a knock on the door, and he was so startled he knocked over his paints.

"Fucking shit!" he exclaimed. "Come in!"

Sheik stepped inside, looking a little perturbed. "I just got the weirdest feeling of reverse Déjà vu," he said.

Link stared at him. For once Sheik wasn't wearing his hoodie—instead he was dressed in a black button-up shirt with pure white buttons for contrast and black trousers. He'd even tucked in the shirt.

"You've dressed up," Sheik said, breaking Link out of his reverie.

"So've you," he replied. He cleared his throat. "It felt appropriate, this being the last session." He busied himself with pricking up his paints and haphazardly plopping them down on the little table beside the easel.

"I thought the same," Sheik said, nodding.

They fell silent, awkwardly staring at each other for a long moment. Neither seemed willing to broach the subject.

"Shall we get started?" Link said. They'd talk about it later, he was sure. They still had a job to do, after all.

"Sure," Sheik said, smiling a little. "Do you need my shirt off, or...?"

Oh, how Link longed to peel those buttons off himself, but he shook his head.

"I don't think that'll be necessary today," he said, hating himself for saying it as he took off the sheet covering the portrait. "As you can see, we don't have much left."

Specifically, it was filling in the details of Sheik's eyes that remained. He'd done the general shape of them, with the correct colour for his pupils, but the little touches of light and reflections that gave them life still had to be filled in.

"Oh, I didn't realise we were that close to the finish line," Sheik said, surprised. "Kafei's right—my nipples _are_ obscene."

They're beautiful, is what Link wanted to say, but he forced out a chuckle instead. "Imagine if we'd gone for full nudity."

"You wouldn't be alive today if we had," Sheik said with a laugh, seating himself in his usual chair.

"I have no doubt," Link said, picking up his brush and taking a deep breath, preparing himself for the last sprint. "Here we go."

It took him about an hour to finish, and for the entire time they said nothing to each other. But unlike before, the silence wasn't awkward.

In fact, Link felt at ease. Were he alone he might even have started humming as he put little dots of white in Sheik's eyes, trying to imitate the reflection of the light.

Before he knew it, he fell into that familiar trance. Everything around him disappeared, fading away into the darkness until all he saw and heard and felt was himself, his brush, the painting, and...Sheik.

It was honestly scary, how quickly and easily he'd fallen for the other boy. He'd never imagined he'd ever feel something like it. At first he'd assumed it was just an obsession, the sort of focus he was very familiar with from his very first steps into the art world as a child until now, where all aspects of life simply disappeared until all he cared about was his motive.

He'd thought at first that Sheik was just his muse. He was more than that. That tightness in his chest hadn't just been happiness at finding something he wanted to paint. It was happiness just from seeing _Sheik_.

And when he'd opened up to Link a week ago...well, he only fell deeper into that well. He had no idea if there was even a bottom to it, but Link wanted to fall further. He supposed that was why the idea to kiss him had come so naturally, even if he'd panicked about it immediately afterwards.

Yeah, he definitely needed to ask Sheik out after this. They'd skipped a step with the kiss, but he hoped he'd get a chance to do it again. Maybe not when they're both shivering from the cold and covered in tears and snot.

It just didn't make for a very picturesque confession tableau.

Sidon and Zelda could definitely never know how it had all looked. It would just be too embarrassing...plus, the two would spread it all over campus like the gossiping biddies they were.

Before he knew it, the last bit of shading was added, and Link was staring at the finished portrait of Sheik. It felt...sad. He was very happy with the result, for sure, but at the same time he felt a little crushed at the thought of these sessions ending. Like before, he wondered if Sheik would be open to more portraits.

Unless Kafei killed Link for this one, that is.

He let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding and stepped back, looking the painting over one last time. Not a detail out of place. The shade, the shadow, the hues, Sheik's expression, the life in his eyes...everything was perfect.

Not nearly as perfect as the muse himself, though.

"It's done," he said with a sigh, looking to Sheik. "Come see?"

Sheik was out of the chair in a flash, standing beside him, making an impressed sound.

"I don't know much about art," he said. "But yours is...amazing, Link." He turned to look at him, grinning widely. "It looks just like me! I look absolutely pissed!"

"Fierce," Link said, nodding. "Able to put the fear of Hylia in anyone you meet."

"Even you?"

"Even me," Link said, putting his brush down. "I...can't thank you enough for this," he said. "If you hadn't agreed to model for me, I wouldn't have produced something this good. I'd have gone for a random subject out of desperation, and my heart wouldn't have been in it."

"Your heart, huh..." Sheik muttered.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing," Sheik said, clearing his throat. "And there's no need to thank me, really. I was happy to do this. This was...a very nice break from my usual schedule. Made college life seem a little less humdrum." His eyes widened. "Not that I was treating this as a distraction, mind you, I just—"

"I get it," Link said, chuckling at his panic. "Don't worry."

Link cleaned up his paint and other equipment, grateful when Sheik joined in. They then carefully covered up the painting, keeping prying eyes from seeing it. Link could only hope Pikango would be impressed.

"So..." Sheik said, trailing off. "In my text..."

Link jumped. "Oh, right, you had something to show me?"

"Yeah," Sheik said, rubbing his arm, looking tense. "But not here. The music room."

Link had no idea what was going on, but he followed Sheik down the hall, descending the stairs and heading for the large door to the music room, where Sheik produced a key and unlocked it. They stepped inside the darkness of the room—it was pitch black.

"Lights, lights, lights," Sheik muttered as he opened the box on the inside wall by the door. "Ah, here we are." He flicked a switch, and the lights above the grand piano turned on. And only those. "Come on," he said, taking Link gently by the wrist and tugging him towards the podium. On the way he grabbed one of the folding chairs that littered the room, placing it near the piano, gesturing to it. "Sit."

Link did as he was told, unsure of what was happening. Was Sheik finally going to destroy the piano he hated so much? No, that couldn't be it, he realised, when the Sheikah sat down in front of the instrument. He looked...well, he looked nervous, honestly, as he fiddled with the bench, adjusting its height and testing his reach to the foot pedals, making himself comfortable.

And truth be told, his posture was...well, not entirely comfortable, he had a tension in his shoulders that looked decidedly uncomfortable, but not nearly as bad as the night Link had first met him.

"Uh...this is..." Sheik began, trailing off. "Shit, I didn't really prepare anything to say." He gave Link a wide-eyed look. "Just...listen, okay?"

Link nodded.

Sheik took a deep breath before putting his fingers on the keys. The first chord rang out in the music room, a striking tone that immediately drew Link into the soundscape. Sheik's fingers moved across the keys at a languid pace, almost as if feeling out the proper way to go.

It was a lovely tune, its pace slow but not meandering or unfocused. To Link it felt...warm. He found it hard to describe, even to himself, but there was a soft heat to the tune, with the little flourishes where Sheik's fingers danced between two keys rapidly.

With a start, Link realised he'd heard this piece before. It was the one Sheik had been playing the night they'd met. But the experience was completely different than before. Where Sheik had been tense and practically hammering at the keys back then, tonight he was...just playing. His fingers moved calmly and with purpose, precise and nimble, dexterous and not testing the tensile strength of his tendons.

His eyes were focused on the keys, his jaw clenched, but not out of anger—just pure concentration.

They were the same notes, the same pace, the same progression, but it sounded entirely different now. It was...beautiful. And a little playful, the pace sometimes picking up, the notes jumping back and forth like a game of tag.

If Link were to try to paint what the piece made him feel...it'd be a fall day scene, in the woods, surrounded by colourful foliage. Running among the trees, a couple chasing each other, laughing joyfully. Walking down the trails, hand in hand, exchanging smiles. Just...love.

Sheik's fingers swept across the keys, the pitch rising and falling, not a single note missed or misplaced, the chase in the woods picking up the pace before again calming to a languid stroll, still holding hands.

He sat there, entranced, the music washing over him, unable to tear his gaze away from Sheik's hands. And Sheik himself, truly. He seemed lost in the music now, the tension in his shoulders nearly gone, jaw relaxed. It really was a stark different from that night—he could see that now.

His playing had been beautiful back then too, but this was on a completely different level. Compared to now, the piece had been angry, hammered out via barely suppressed rage. Sheik had poured all of his frustration, the same he'd released a week ago, into his practicing, and it had borne no fruits.

Now, he was completely in control, truly the master of the instrument he hated so much.

He was even smiling. Link could see the corners of his mouth twitching, sometimes even lifting a bit. He seemed like he was actually enjoying himself, and Link felt his chest tighten considerably at the sight of it. He truly was beautiful, just as beautiful as the music he was playing—if not even more.

No, definitely even more.

But the music couldn't last forever, even if Link wouldn't have minded. The pace slowed minutely, his hands moving in opposite directions as they pressed down, the harmonies ringing out one by one, until he let last one linger...

Sheik lowered his hands away from the keys, releasing a shuddering breath, closing his eyes. He looked...exhausted. But radiant all the same. His muse...

Link barely even noticed himself standing up, clapping.

Sheik was startled by the sound, looking bashfully at the floor as Link continued to clap. He lost track of how long he did, but he wanted—needed—to get his appreciation across. Needed Sheik to know just how fantastic that had been to listen to, how good he was, how much Link l...liked him.

"That was...beautiful," was all he could say when he finally stopped clapping, the palms of his hands stinging. "Sheik, I...I don't have the words."

Sheik's hand scratched at his neck. "Did you recognise it?" he asked quietly.

"Oh, yeah!" Link said, nodding. "It's the one you were playing that night!" He paused. Hang on...wasn't that the one... "It's the one you were struggling with, right? It sounded perfect just now!"

Sheik nodded. "I finally got it down," he said, rising from the bench and coming to stand in front of Link, still looking at his feet. "I spent this week practising. Every day. And I finally managed to get it right." He finally looked up, his cheeks burning red, and eyes so intense Link nearly jerked back. "Do you know how?" he asked, taking a step forward.

"H-How?" Link asked, trying to stay focused on the conversation and not how close Sheik was standing.

"I found something to focus on," Sheik said, taking another step, their faces very close now. Close enough to... "Or, should I say, _someone_."

"Oh, y-yeah?" Link said. "Who?"

Sheik smiled. "You," he said, closing the distance between them, pressing his lips to Link's.

Link's arms moved on their own, wrapping around Sheik and pulling him close, pressing their lips harder together. Worried he was overstepping, he calmed when Sheik made a pleased humming sound, his hands coming to rest on Link's hips, gripping him.

Alas, air became a bit of an issue, and they had to separate. Link refused to let go, however. Sheik seemed to have a similar issue, his fingers hooking themselves into Link's belt loops.

Panting, they stared into each other's eyes. Feeling bold, Link pressed his forehead to Sheik's, heart leaping excitedly in his chest when Sheik hummed again, pressing back.

"I thought about you all week," he said quietly. "Through every lesson, every practice, every tutoring session. It became so much easier to play when I had you in my mind. I thought about the kiss..."

"Me too," Link said. "I couldn't get it out of my mind. I...I was so afraid I'd gone too far."

"You could never," Sheik said quietly. "That night...it helped me so much, you've no idea." He kissed Link again. "Thank you."

"Thank _you_ ," Link said. "I...there's something I want to ask you. Can I?"

"I hope it's what I think it is," Sheik said, staring into his eyes, crimson eyes shining from the stage light.

Well, here they were. The big moment. The moment Link had been preparing for and dreading for so long. His mouth was dry, his throat tight, but...he felt no fear. Only a certainty that pushed him forward, left no room for argument. He breathed in, and said:

"Go out with me?"

Sheik grinned. "Of course," he replied.

They sealed it with another kiss...and this one was far more intense than before. Link groaned as they pressed up against each other as tightly as they could, seemingly trying to become one. Something hot and wet swiped across his lower lip, and when he gasped Sheik's tongue invaded his mouth, finding and duelling with his own tongue for dominance. It felt like lightning inside his mouth, and he fucking loved it.

Sheik's hands left his hips, and he lamented the loss of contact...that is, until he was pushed slightly away, Sheik's fingers immediately beginning to work on the buttons of Link's shirt. He pulled back, surprised.

"Are you—?"he began.

"I want..." Sheik said, not even finishing his sentence. He managed to get enough buttons open to slip a hand inside, and Link swore the touches on his skin left little trails of fire. More buttons were undone, and soon he felt his shirt being pushed off his shoulders entirely as it fell open. "Beautiful," Sheik muttered, pulling the sleeves until the shirt fluttered to the floor, leaving Link's upper body bare.

It felt...different than before.

It felt exciting.

Sheik leaned back, taking in the view with an appreciative look on his face, humming. "Handsome," he murmured.

Link couldn't suppress the growl as Sheik's fingers continued to explore him, shivers running down his spine at every touch, every little pinch.

This was unfair.

Sheik gasped when he broke the kiss and began to fiddle with the Sheikah's shirt. He didn't resist, letting Link do as he pleased. The painter cursed his own lack of dexterity, his fingers feeling like useless little sausages, yet he somehow managed to get all the buttons open.

No style, no finesse. He practically ripped the shirt off Sheik before pulling him back against his body. They both moaned at the feel of skin contact, and Link wondered if Sheik felt like he was on fire as well.

There was no time for words. They mouths found each other again, tongues clashing. At one point Link found himself pressed up against the piano by Sheik, insistent.

Were...Were they going to...? Oh Hylia, Link wasn't sure he could take it, it was too hot. And he...fuck, he hadn't brought any...

Unfortunately, the choice was taken out of their hands by the door to the music room slamming open (that seemed to be happening a lot lately). They started at the sudden, loud explosion of a sound, which was followed by a loud gasp.

But the person in the doorway wasn't the one Link expected. Paya leaned against the doorframe, her suit askew and her hair falling out of its delicate bun, eyes wide and focused on the pair of them. A very complicated series of emotions seemed to pass through her eyes as she stared.

Link very carefully and slowly took his hands off Sheik, wondering if he'd have the time to throw himself out the nearest window if he managed to get a head-start.

"I saw the painting," she said, voice tight. "Congratulations."

"P-Paya-nee," Sheik said, his posture ramrod straight. "Wh-What are you—"

"I came to pick you up," she said, her voice evening out to something approaching neutrality, but there was definitely a tightness to it. "Didn't find you in the art room." Her eyes flicked to Link. "Figured I'd find you here."

"Ah, well done," Sheik said, seemingly at a loss.

So was Link, honestly. He was still anticipating his death.

"I suggest," Paya said slowly, "that you get dressed before Kafei makes it down here. He has terrible stamina, but he's not that slow."

"Oh, gods," Sheik exclaimed as they sprang into action.

Link was a lot more afraid of Paya than he was of Kafei, but the last thing he needed right now was to add more fuel to this fire. He could see in Paya's eyes that he'd just been caught violating her cousin, and she was not happy about it.

They scrambled and managed to button their shirts up just in time for the sounds of plodding footsteps and rapid breathing to come echoing down the hall before the purple-haired cousin himself appeared beside Paya, clutching at the door frame like he'd just run a marathon.

"What'd...I...miss?" he managed to wheeze.

"Nothing important," Paya replied before Sheik or Link could say anything, delicately fixing her clothes and hair, as if she hadn't been just as desperate to reach them. "They were just celebrating the painting's completion, I suspect."

"Yup," Sheik said quickly. "And I was showing Link my progress in the Nocturne piece!"

"Oh..." Kafei wheezed again. "That's...good...work..."

"A-Anyway," Sheik said, "I guess it's getting late, huh? Time to go home?"

"That's right," Paya said.

Link still wondered if he could make it to a window before it was too late. Kafei would surely see through the ruse. He'd even managed to button his shirt wrong; it felt tight.

"Right, well, thanks for today," Sheik said, giving Link a tight smile. "Congrats on finishing the painting. Let me know what the professor thinks?"

"O-Of course," Link said. "I'll...text you?"

"Please do," Sheik said, taking the chance of giving Link a quick wink as he grabbed his bag and joined his cousins at the door, patting the still wheezing Kafei on the shoulder. "You okay?" he asked.

"You really need to work on your stamina, Kaf," Paya said. "This is just shameful."

"I hate...cardio," Kafei said.

"All the more reason to do it," Paya said disdainfully before looking back at Link. "Do you need a ride to your dorm, Link?" she asked.

Her tone and expression suggested it'd be a very bad idea to say yes.

"No thank you, I'm good," Link said. "I need a long walk anyway."

"I'm sure you do," she said, pulling Kafei to his feet and putting an arm around Sheik's shoulders, pulling them both out of the music room. "Good night, Link."

"Good night," he said, warmth spreading in his chest when Sheik smiled back at him over his shoulder.

Oh, he was going to text Sheik, all right. Probably that very same night. He suspected he had a pair of big obstacles ahead of him, but for Sheik? It was worth defying them. He'd win them over, sooner or later.

As he walked home, he wondered if he could distract Paya by throwing Zelda at her. It was definitely worth a shot. His head was practically spinning from the events of that night as he entered his dorm.

For once, Sidon was actually awake and at his desk, apparently working on a report of some sort. Clearly not the main event of his night, however, judging by how quickly he turned to Link, and how excited he looked.

"Well?" he asked. "How'd it go?"

"It went...well?" Link said, still not sure how to classify the evening. A resounding success, for sure, but how to describe what he'd had with Sheik...what he'd have from now on? He had no idea. He supposed they'd have to hash that out over text...

Sidon grinned. "I'll say," he said. "Got to second base, I see."

Link blushed. "Wh-What? How can you t-tell?"

"Easy," he said, his grin widening until it was positively shark-like. "That's not your shirt."

Oh.

Link took a moment to re-centre himself. "How much to not tell Zelda?" he asked.

"More than you could possibly afford," Sidon said, phone out and already typing a message to the devil herself.

Realising the battle was already lost, Link excused himself to take a shower, definitely not reliving what had happened in the music room. By the time he finished Sidon had gone to sleep, the rat bastard.

Link's phone seemed to have blown up with messages in the meantime, all of them from Zelda. He firmly ignored them, not ready to deal with that mess, and went to bed.

Sleep did not come. He tossed and turned for what felt like an eternity, unable to get the evening out of his mind, brain buzzing with activity, trying to memorise every little detail.

His phone buzzed. He checked the preview, relieved to see it wasn't from Zelda.

It was from Sheik.

**Sheik: Good night ♥**

Link smiled like an idiot and sent a good night message in return. Lying back down, he found himself much calmer. Sleep came and carried him away, his dreams filled with music, laughter, and the smiling face of the boy he liked.

* * *

**The End  
**

**Author's Note:**

> **No, I will never stop finding new and dumb AUs to write. This one wasn't even my fault.**


End file.
